mare lamentorum

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxiv #prompt #shadowbringers #stelmaria #graha #alisaie #alphinaud #wolgraha

general: stel likes toppy raha ; in this house we love the twins ; patch 5.4 spoilers

warnings: none

idiom

• do something in the easiest or least expensive way; also, act illegally.

“That appears to be our merchant.”

The odd quartet of two adult miqo'te and two elezen youths is strange enough, but the way they've attempted to hide themselves, together, in the shadow of a single column, is quite another thing entirely. They fit in a shared space the same way a square peg fits into a round hole, or a grumpy housecat goes into his carrier—which is to say they don't fit at all.

Further, all eight eyes are trained on what appears to be an everyday merchant—a blissfully unaware lalafell man some 20 yalms away—watching his every move with the sort of dour intensity far better suited to the inspection of one's shoe after treading on something foul.

“I'll talk to him,” offers Alphinaud. “I've done this sort of espionage before.”

He attempts to straighten but he's still kneeling, pinned to the ground under his sister’s weight.

Alisaie snorts at the very same moment G'raha manages to say, “Wait.”

Without even hearing the new plan Alisaie talks over her companion, “G'raha is right. You look far too genteel to be believable brother, and for that matter so do I. It'll have to be one of you two then.”

She glances at G'raha and Stelmaria, the purple haired woman leaning to rest her elbows on the Archon's shoulders, while he holds the squatting sit all miqo'te males seem to be comfortable with.

Satisfied that her opinion has been registered she removes her knee from the small of Alphinaud's back, allowing her twin to rise to his feet. Since her return from the First, Alisaie's bright blue eyes have not ceased twinkling for even a moment, so thrilled is she to be home and once more about the business of saving Eorzea.

Today is no different.

Alphinaud grimaces and rubs his back, though it's difficult to say which affront chagrins him more, his sister using him as a stepladder ('otherwise I can't see you ninny!') or everyone seemingly agreeing that he's “too genteel” to be allowed.

Rather than replying, Stelmaria heaves a great sigh and straightens. She pinches the apples of her cheeks then she rubs her lips together to plump them. That done, she unfastens the top button of her ruffled dress.

Then adjusts the neckline lower before unfastening another.

And another.

Alisaie reaches to shield her brother's eyes just as G'raha finishes dusting himself off and sees the Warrior.

“Aria!” he hisses, tugging off his scarf and throwing it slapdash around her shoulders.

Alisaie fails to smother a chuckle at hearing the rather intimate pet name.

For all their attempts to keep this relationship private, her friends are shockingly bad at subterfuge.

“Hmmm?” Stelmaria, supremely unconcerned, adjusts the scarf from where it has tangled in her hair and ears to its proper position. It fails to cover the rather substantial amount of décolletage on display.

All right. It’s not that shocking.

“They’ll know your face,” observes Alphinaud, batting his sister’s hands away and suppressing a grin.

“Yes! Yes, exact—!”

“Shhh.” Alisaie whips her head around. Thankfully, the lalafell hasn’t moved. “If we don’t get a move on we’ll be discovered—“

Stelmaria readjusts her neckline again. “We all know they won’t be looking at my face,” she says, with the same tone others might use to say ‘the sky is blue’ or perhaps ‘fire is hot.’

Alphinaud stares at the rolling hills of the La Noscean countryside, momentarily struck dumb.

Alisaie chokes on her own spit.

“The most direct method is fast and easy. Why make it more complicated than it needs to be?” asks Stelmaria, shaking her violet tresses so they frame her heart-shaped face in a most becoming fashion.

“No,” says G’raha, softly, “They’ll know you. You’re a long time Scion and you’ve been seen with the Admiral, besides. It’s too risky for you to go.”

The Warrior deliberates, chewing her ruby lip with one fang.

“Then what do you suggest?” Alphinaud raises a brow at his companion.

G’raha grins widely, a bit of the cocksure youth resurfacing, like the sun bursting from behind heavy cloud, “I’ll go. Anyone that could recognize me is in Gridania or Mor Dhona.”

“Very well,” relents Alisaie.

The miqo’te bounces off, ears and tail flagged high and shining a burnished copper in the sunlight.

“Got what you were aiming for, I take it?” Alisaie murmurs conspiratorially.

“Always,” replies Stelmaria, (not so) subtly rubbing the scarf against her cheek. “Taking charge suits him; he should do it far more often.”

An indulgent smile slides across the Warrior’s face and Alisaie finds herself reciprocating.

Happiness is infectious after all. They may be gods awful at being discreet but at least they seem to be enjoying themselves.