gurabad | 016 » it's a shot in the dark but i'll make it

[in response, ramza maintains eye contact.

he stares — just long enough to make isilud sweat for another moment... and then, finally, after what feels like several long minutes but which in reality is a mere fifteen seconds, ramza raises one finger as if to silence isilud's protests —

— and taps it against the knight's chest.]

...You have done well.

[he raises a second finger and taps it against isilud's chest.]

Should you do something so foolish a second time, it will be my sword through your breast, and not a Lucavi demon's. Am I understood?

[turning away, ramza raises his voice and addresses the group.] Clear out! We make for Gollund!

[ Steeled for harsher words, Isilud is certain that he misheard when no such thing comes. Praise, a threat, the matter settled — Ramza takes him by surprise at every turn. It renders him speechless, mouth agape as he stares after Ramza, his hand placed against his chest until he sits astride one of their mounts, the party heading off at last.

This time, the handful of uneasy glances and careful scrutiny escape Isilud's notice.

Dugeura Pass would have meant a shorter journey, across steep rock and narrow trails. Instead they pass through Lesalia's grasslands, which grow sparser the closer they draw to the snow-covered highlands surrounding the town of Gollund. Were they to ride through the night, they might arrive at Bervenia's gates a day sooner than predicted — or the chocobos might stage an uprising against their riders. ]

[what ramza does not mention is that he learned that particular method of doling out praise and punishment from zalbaag — and also, that zalbaag would usually poke his forehead rather than his chest, but it would have been difficult for ramza to reach that far up comfortably.

he chooses the longer route to bervenia, not out of insufficient love for alma, but an equal love of his people. experienced field commander though he may be, ramza does not like the idea of unnecessary bloodshed; any battle is one in which he runs the risk of losing one of his allies, and every battle won is merely one in which he has to take more lives. better to avoid conflict than run into a trap knowing full well that he will have to kill hapless knights under duke goltanna's banner, who, in the end, are merely trying to earn a living.

and alma will be fine. she will be safe. he has to believe that.

with no further words exchanged, they ride on.

by the time they approach gollund, the chocobos look rather eager to be fed and watered, ladd is complaining about his armor again, and several in the group express a wish to nurse their aches and bruises in a warm bed. ramza has few objections. he knows well the need to keep morale high — and, more importantly, he chose the path to gollund knowing that it would take much longer to traverse. it might do them some good to take a longer rest.

as with all things, ramza's party has a procedure for entering towns. they walk in small groups, the better to not look like an invading army, but they make no attempts to hide their association; the official story is that they are traveling mercenaries. agrias — again the only one besides ramza considered responsible enough to manage their communal funds — is dispatched to make room reservations. gollund is a mining town, with few amenities save for its pub and its inn; most in the group opt to visit the former, in order to knock back a few drinks and share some hearty stories of battle. even heretics bent on cleansing ivalice of demons must take time to attend to their earthly desires, ramza supposes.

ramza's status as a wanted heretic matters very little except to ordained inquisitors and bounty hunters, so he does not usually bother to disguise himself, but he wears a cloak to hide his face in gollund — primarily because it is cold, and he likes the extra warmth. in times like these, he has little to do save stand outside the inn, watching his people enjoy themselves while he breathes on his hands to keep them warm.]

[ Gollund's air is thin, crisp with cold, and smoke-laced. Isilud breathes it gladly, for the chill wrenches him out of the exhausted haze he brought upon himself, succeeding where force of will alone came close to failing and pitching him off the saddle. Though Mustadio invites him to join the others at the tavern, he declines, claiming the need to stretch his legs — let them have their peace, unsoured — and chooses instead to pass the time freezing his fingers and toes numb while he keeps an eye on their chocobos and belongings on the other side of a sooty window.

He understands, he thinks, why Ramza agreed to his suggestion only after leading him to believe it discarded. Ramza sees the wider world beyond his goal; the focus of his thoughts must be his sister, but he does not neglect to remember the welfare of his companions, who now seem grateful for this deviation from the straighter route, for such humble comforts as a bed and a bath (no tents, no icy stream). Yet Isilud did act against Ramza's counsel, and so there had to be some form of censure.

Made contemplative, Isilud glances down at himself. Would he have chosen as Ramza did, in Ramza's place? (Had he disregarded his father's orders and Wiegraf's wishes at Orbonne, Wiegraf might yet live.) His forefinger gives his armor's breastplate a tap.

The chocobos are undisturbed, and any living creature's body has its demands — Isilud's reminds him that Mustadio's invitation means a warm hearth and a meal. Refusing will not transport them to Bervenia in an instant, nor locate Alma, nor slay all Lucavi at once. It will take its toll on him.

To his surprise, he soon catches sight of Ramza stood outside the inn as though keeping watch there, apart from his friends, at least until Agrias appears beside him. It could well be a moment they wish to spend together uninterrupted, and with no one nearby to eavesdrop.

"A word, Ramza, if you've the time," Agrias begins. She casts a glance about, continues in hushed tones. "Was Bervenia your thinking or Ser Isilud's? Know that I trust to your judgment, but I would not see your trust abused." ]

[ramza is relaxed around agrias in a way that he is not when he is with isilud, or even mustadio — he closes his eyes when she joins him, his posture at ease, his expression soft and dreamy. his moments of weakness are few and far between, and lady agrias sees most of them, by virtue of the fact that she can be trusted to stand vigil while he rests.

the noble heretic and the stalwart protector. the scene is almost picturesque.

"ser isilud suggested our course," he replies, his voice even, "but his plans align with my own. in truth, i mean for zeltennia, not bervenia. i would speak with count orlandeau of the southern sky — and with delita."

mention of this delita makes agrias bristle visibly. ramza holds up one hand as if to silence her, but it pulls the hem of her traveling-cloak instead, like a gentle admonishment.

"i know you are not fond of the man, lady agrias," ramza continues, "but he was my friend, once, and though he does not walk the path we do, i know that no harm will befall princess ovelia so long as he yet watches over her."

"you mean while he yet has use for her," agrias snaps — but, seeing ramza's unwavering expression, she settles, and in response, ramza lets go of her cloak.

for a moment, they watch the snowflakes dance in midair.

"you do not trust isilud," ramza offers, by way of conversation.

"no," is agrias's blunt reply.

if ramza is perturbed by agrias's obvious anger, he does not show it. he understands. she loses sight of herself when it comes to princess ovelia, as he loses sight of himself when it comes to alma. "he means to negotiate with his sister in bervenia. meliadoul — another knight templar. if he can convince her of our cause, our enemies will number one fewer and our allies one greater. is that not worth the risk of falling into a trap?"

ramza's voice shifts; it is softer, quieter. he speaks with less cold reason and more warm emotion.

"i have known men to lie about many things, lady agrias," he says, softly, almost soft enough that isilud cannot hear, "but i have never known one to lie about his love for his sister. have you?"]

[ Silence follows Ramza's words, broken only by the sounds of a town's activity slowing for the evening, and finally, a sigh. Agrias speaks no more of trust or sisters, but her rigid posture relaxes enough to concede in place of a spoken response. Turning slightly, she gestures with a raised hand. "... Our companions begin to ask what keeps you out here. My skill lies in the sword, but a friend's burdens are my own."

Another minute, Isilud resolves, and he will show himself and confess to having overheard the conversation from start to finish. Loath to disturb the pair now, on the one hand, honesty seems a wise course of action, on the other. He shifts his feet upon snow turned to grey ice, letting his head rest against the wall behind him. ]

[silence, again.

ramza does not answer. he simply looks up, staring at the flat grey sky above gollund and its torrent of flakes that blanket everything in white, thinking to himself, saying nothing. as if turning towards the heavens. as if questioning the gods. as if waiting to be buried under the weight of a thousand thousand memories, ramza looks at the sky and does not answer.

"i hate the snow," he says, finally. "it reminds me of everything i hate about myself."

he sighs, then, and when he speaks again it is in a tone that suggests he would like to turn the subject anywhere else. "i suppose the innkeeper has prepared our rooms by now. i'll be going inside — would you care to join me?"

agrias picks up on his cue, shaking her head, choosing not to press further. "no, i had best join the others at the tavern before alicia has had too much to drink. lavian does not help by encouraging her, and..."

the rest of agrias's response is indistinct, as she is walking away from the inn toward the tavern; whatever it is, it must be funny, because ramza laughs (or forces a laugh?), waves, and simply calls "well, you know where i will be if you have need of me!" before he ducks into the inn, intent on warming himself by a fireplace and possibly turning in early for the night.

that leaves isilud, standing cold against the wall.]

Edited 2016-05-31 21:18 (UTC)

[ Ramza's remark, before he cuts off discussion and he and Agrias part ways, is a puzzling thing. What could there be to hate, Isilud wonders, genuinely taken aback. Now that his eyes are opened, they witness glimpse upon glimpse of the good in one man.

Another minute proves a minute too long. Agrias's footsteps fade, as do Ramza's, utter silence left in their wake. The wind picks up, whistling by in the company of a flurry of snowflakes. A change of plans is in order, and Isilud scrambles out from behind the wall, his new destination the inn. As luck would have it, he forgets to duck and avoid a collision with the awning overhead; clipping a low support beam, he knocks loose a small pile of snow that slips its way between clothing and skin and turns his cry of “Wait!” into a yelp.

The last few steps to the inn's door and across its threshold are crossed with no further mishap, if clutching his head and blinking melting snowflakes from his eyes. On the other side, the innkeeper greets him with a pointed look and a grumbled "Take it to another town, boy."

Isilud musters a mystified furrow of his brow, more focused on determining which of their rooms waiting might be Ramza's — or the room he is to take, for that matter. ]

[given that the innkeeper seems to think that isilud is nursing the mother of all hangovers, she most likely won't offer any assistance in finding either ramza's room or his.

the inn is a rather large one, despite the town's modest size; its guests comprise adventurers, mercenaries, and seasonal mining workers alike. complicating matters, ramza is not by the communal fireplace in the inn lobby, likely because it is being used by a group of treasure hunters arguing loudly about the authenticity of a map — but a sufficiently analytical mind such as isilud's can probably track the beoulve down all the same. ramza spent a long time outside in the snow, letting precipitate pile around his shoes; a trail of wet footprints against stone tile takes isilud to the man's room.

when isilud knocks, there is a muffled reply that might be "enter"... or it might be "please wait."

it was probably "please wait."

inside, ramza is sitting on the bed closer to the wall; he has removed much of his armor and has his knit tunic rolled up to his chest while he examines a dark bruise near his hip. if he is annoyed about being interrupted, he doesn't show it — he looks up, and then back down.]

Ser Isilud. Are we sharing this room tonight?

[ The innkeeper may have been reluctant to point him the right way, but Ramza's trail is an easy one to follow, in the end. Rather than stand around outside the room or decide by coin toss whether Ramza bid him to enter or to wait, Isilud pushes the door open and his head through the widening gap between door and frame, then all of him past the doorway. He would announce his intrusion, but instead he closes his mouth, brows knit.

He cannot help but think that a touch of Gollund's chilly air has accompanied them to this room. It hangs about Ramza, between them, in stark contrast to that morning or the night before.

Perhaps it is nothing; he only imagines it out of guilt, or having seen Ramza together with his friends, he now notes these subtle shifts in Ramza's manner. ]

... Are we?

[ Ramza spoke graciously of him to put Agrias's mind at ease, yes, but surely the day has worn away his patience. ]

To tell the truth, I came to speak with you... but you've other matters to attend to.

[ Matters in the shape of that bruise, a basin to wash, rest. ]

We could, if you wish it.

[he pulls his shirt down around the bruise, as if putting it out of sight will make it go away.]

I typically wake to find Ladd or Mustadio in the bed nearest mine, but...

[...but it would not particularly surprise ramza if either of the two happened to spend the night in someone else's bed. this, however, he leaves unsaid out of tact and decency, opting instead to slide off his mattress and walk, barefoot, to isilud at the door. his expression betrays nothing, says little in the way of either chilliness or warmth. perhaps he really is angry with isilud over some undisclosed offense? perhaps it is merely the effect of that odd conversation he'd had with agrias?]

What is it you would discuss?

[ Just when he'd thought the puzzle of Ramza Beoulve solved, he finds himself mistaken. He has done plenty to offend; perhaps Ramza recalls it now, one thing after another stacked high. Perhaps Ramza keeps his doubts well hidden — but he would not lead his men into a trap, if he had cause to believe himself deceived. He would not be glad upon Isilud's return. ]

Ladd or Mustadio?

[ Isilud's gaze drifts towards the beds, over Ramza's head and then back. ]

Then they lay claim to that one...? If you ask it, Ramza, I would share the chocobos' stables. [ A hasty thing to swear, and he immediately reconsiders, but it is said, and if a night spent with the chocobos somehow proves where his loyalties lie, so be it. He will not go back on his word. ]

I... know your companions' worries. I heard you speak with Lady Agrias. But I promise you, I've no plans to deliver you to the Church.

[in response, ramza arches one brow before he breaks into slightly bemused laughter, stepping back from the door as if to welcome the knight in.]

I assure you, Isilud, I am well aware of that.

[and, as if that completely settles the matter, ramza gestures vaguely towards one of the beds, dismissing any further discussion of the possibility of isilud's betrayal.] Worry not — you may rest your head there, and I shall tell Mustadio to take the chocobos' stables.

[ramza withdraws back to his side of the room, sitting once more at the edge of the bed where he was when isilud first walked in, but he does not lift his shirt again, nor does he look as though he might change into more comfortable clothing; he is still wearing the woolen tunic and leather pants he typically dons beneath his armor.]

...What else did you hear?

Edited 2016-06-01 22:52 (UTC)

[ A weight is lifted from him, to hear Ramza laugh, as though a trap laid is the last thing to enter his thoughts, and there it is again, that boyish side to Ramza that tells stories of Ladd's armor and promises in jest to send Mustadio out to a bed of straw. Isilud chances a retort in the same vein. ]

Even though I knocked you to the ground?

[ The beds are small, narrow, but they are the height of luxury after long days and nights of saddles and lumpy tent floors. Not all are so fortunate. By now, Isilud's fingers have thawed out to let him shed gauntlets and greaves; seated and placing the pieces aside, he glances up from the remainder of his task. ]

... All of it. [ He admits it without hesitation. ] Zeltennia, Lady Agrias's concerns — and the rest. It was chance, not calculation, that took me your way, Ramza.

[ But chance is no excuse for his decision to stay, and that knowledge turns him quiet as he studies Ramza across from him before an observation to voice. ]

—You're hurt.

[isilud's decision to shed layers seems to prompt ramza into shedding cautiousness: he sprawls, unguarded, across the surface of his modest bed. the blankets are balled up beneath his lower back; he arches slightly, his aching spine eager for a good long stretch after a full day's ride in a saddle.]

I've had worse from friends...

[when isilud observes his injuries, ramza rolls over onto his belly — his weight, noticeably, falls onto the hip that isn't bruised — and buries his face in his pillow. some others would be more cautious about hygiene in a well-traveled inn, but ramza detects only the faint scent of freshly laundered linen, the unmistakable sensation of hospitality. it would remind him of home, but he hasn't had a home to return to for a long time.]

Minor scrapes. [that's all he says about his wounds, muffled, into his pillow, before he turns his head just enough that his voice comes out clearly.]

So you heard only my conversation with Lady Agrias?

[there it is, that arched brow again, the unmistakably boyish smile. with his face half-hidden from view, ramza looks more mischievous than ever.]

And here I thought you had finally heard what's been said of you around camp. Not all of it pertains to your status as a Templar, you know. Some others find you — what was the phrase she used? Dark and brooding and — ah, yes, dangerously handsome...

Edited 2016-06-02 13:40 (UTC)

[ Minor scrapes need no intervention to heal and Ramza makes his preference to steer off the topic plain, but he favours one side, evidently in some amount of pain. There is little that Isilud could do to soothe aches away, and so he resumes divesting himself of his armor, only to pause again with his fingers curled around the laces of the tunic beneath. His expression goes from quizzical — on his guard, for he knows the look that comes over Ramza and he knows what such looks signal — to bewildered. ]

... Who? Dangerously?

[ Handsome, apparently, his mind supplies the key difference between that revelation and simply 'dangerous'. Did that account for some of the stares? He mulls it over on his way to pulling free of his tunic and emerging on the other end with his hair tousled. ]

That is... no, I heard nothing of the sort...

[ramza laughs into his pillow, burying his face once more and temporarily becoming nothing more than a halo of blond hair spread out against a mattress. for all his stoicism upon the battlefield, he is in the end an ordinary young man, and when he resurfaces it is with the unmistakable satisfaction of a young man with a secret. his smirk is taunting.]

Watch yourself, Isilud. I know a woman of rare beauty who would gladly kill to see you thus exposed.

[it is with an obvious effort that he manages to sober up and swallow his smile.]

Perhaps you should turn your talents for espionage away from myself and towards the fairer members of our — ow...

[an attempt to sit up by pushing his weight off the bed elicits a wince and a hiss of pain. ramza tries again, with his palms this time instead of his elbows, and succeeds. one or both of his elbows must be injured beneath his thick tunic.]

...Towards the fairer members of our company, as I was saying.

[ Exposed? Isilud gives himself a cursory glance. Faded nicks and fading bruises decorate his skin in places, and now he sports the shadow of his wounds received at Riovanes in thicker, uneven lines of scarring upon his breast. It is flattering to have caught this mystery rare beauty's eye, though Ramza teases and encourages in one breath and Isilud suspects the situation embellished.

In that moment, they are not only allies, speaking and laughing as friends might, a picture that would have seemed ludicrous, mere days ago. ]

You warn me to watch myself, yet keep me in the dark!

[ Joking in turn comes to an early end as Ramza's "minor scrapes" hamper his movements. Isilud rises from the edge of his bed, stands over Ramza's, and makes to offer aid, but recalling the aftermath of his fall, he drops his hands again, away from Ramza's arms. ]

Your scrapes demand your attention, Ramza...

A great many things demand my attention, Isilud.

[with that, ramza sighs. pulling himself to his knees though he is still seated on his mattress, the blond reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulls it up and over his head with the rapid-fire motion of someone who prefers not to remain exposed.

it is simultaneously easy and difficult to see why ramza might be insecure about his appearance. he is surprisingly slender — lithe, much thinner than he looks when clad in spiked armor. two years of living his life by his blade has not concealed the sixteen years of his life spent a noble: his skin is fair, largely unblemished, and bears few scars, which means he has either seen little of battle or is skilled enough to avoid being injured in it. the lines of his ribs give way to a narrow waistline; he has less the look of a battle-hardened warrior and more resembles a highborn maiden.

two imperfections mar the surface of his pale skin: one, the dark and mottled bruise on his right hip, and two, an open and bruised gash near his right elbow.

closer inspection might reveal faint discoloration, the even-paler lines of skin where the beoulve has healed over various nicks from various blades — but he allows himself no more than a few seconds to inspect his wounds before he dives under the covers, assuming the form of a ramza-sized lump of bedsheets. after another moment, his head pokes out; he closes his eyes.]

...I fell.

[ That brief glimpse of Ramza's bare skin gives Isilud no time to assess the nature of his wounds before Ramza's bedsheets swallow him up. Though surprised to find a man rather slight of frame beneath the layers of clothing and armor, it surprises Isilud all the more that Ramza seems… self-conscious? Embarrassment is the likeliest reason, but a fall changes nothing; Ramza remains the formidable warrior who bested Wiegraf, who forced Isilud himself to take flight. ]

And in punishment, you leave your wound untreated? A great many things demand the attention of every soul, but even a small cut allowed to fester might cost you a limb.

[ But he understands Ramza's unwillingness to be subjected to another's fussing, and over something so minor. ]

[ramza has nothing to say to that, of course.

he knows full well that he is being unreasonable, and that he would ask the others to tend to similar scrapes if they had any — and yet, it seems to him somehow irresponsible to tend to his own wounds, to use potions and poultices and ask to be healed for every little thing. cautiousness is a virtue, he muses — except where it might be confused with cowardice.

pride and reason fight a fierce battle in his mind, and in the end, a kind of whimsy emerges the victor. ramza disappears into the covers once more, wriggling like a cat in a bag; he reemerges at the foot of the bed, nodding his head toward a leather pouch sitting against a nearby wall.]

...There are potions in my bag, if you would be so kind.

[ Watching Ramza's head vanish underneath the blankets for him to crawl from one end of his bed to the other, a linen-swathed moving lump, Isilud faces a challenge: he must school his expression into one that won't deal Ramza's pride another blow, but the scene is humorous — Ramza Beoulve the notorious, wanted heretic and slayer of demons, tunnelling through his covers — and it is oddly endearing, and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. Hastily, he presses his lips into a line and looks over his shoulder at the bag, wandering over to fetch and deliver it. Bag in one hand, the other raised as if to swear a solemn oath, he crouches beside Ramza's bed. ]

Have no fear, Ramza — no one will hear a single word of this from me.

[ And he waits, expectantly, for Ramza to peel free of his cocoon at least to retrieve a potion and use it. The room isn't drafty, and they are both men; there is no need for excess modesty. ]

[it is a mark of isilud's good character that he does not laugh for fear of offending ramza's delicate ego. the blanket-cocoon is the sort of thing that would make mustadio dissolve into undignified giggling, and indeed, ramza is playing it up at least partially for isilud's amusement — but an oath of silence is as good a response as laughter, and ramza accepts it in stride.

...or he would, if he weren't being asked to come out of said blanket-cocoon. as much as he is doing it for isilud's amusement, it is also quite true that the beoulve is not particularly enthusiastic about unclothing himself around others; he is typically the first to wake because it allows him privacy, the first to sleep for the same reason.

but isilud is not delita, nor mustadio, nor any judgmental knight-apprentice who might speak ill of ramza behind his back, and in the end, the blond relents, pushing his covers to his torso so that he can fish a potion out of his bag. it is a cheaper, blue-green concoction; ramza holds it to the light as if to inspect its quality.

instead of using it, he asks, on a completely different note:]

...Have you thought of what you will say to Meliadoul?

[ From his vantage point knelt on the floor, Isilud steals a look at Ramza's injured elbow, exposed for inspection a few moments longer this time. The wound is fresh enough, he thinks, that the torn skin would catch on the fibers of Ramza's sleeve with each movement and aggravate discomfort, but it looks shallow, unlikely to bleed anew. It is only a scrape, as Ramza meant to dismiss it, nothing life-threatening on its own, and insisting upon tending it repays not even a fraction of Isilud's debt owed. Still, it matters. There is no sense in Ramza's choosing to endure it until it heals with time, or interferes in battle.

Once Ramza has his potion selected, Isilud returns the bag to its place. He stops by the wall and lifts his head to glance back at Ramza, who might be bent on creating a conveniently timed diversion, no further yet than peering at the bottle he holds. ]

Of course. [ Isilud leans himself back against the wall; it presses its cold touch to his shoulders. ] I must tell her all of it, the truth of the Stones, Wiegraf's fate... What became of our father.

[ For a brief moment, he is quiet, eyes lowered, before he continues. ]

And she will know to trust you, Ramza.

Will she?

[all too aware of isilud's watchful gaze, ramza relents, uncorking the bottle and putting the potion to use. as it turns out, the potion is neither drink nor salve, but an ointment; ramza is careful not to waste even a drop as he pours a little of it into his hand, and then rubs the liquid into his injury.]

Suppose that she does not?

[it's too uncomfortable to keep lying on his belly; with some effort, he sits up properly, pulling the bedsheets off of his legs. he fixes isilud with a serious gaze, nothing in it now of rare beauties or chocobo stables.]

You know well how the die is cast. I am a heretic, charged with the death of a cardinal and dozens more besides. In her view, I cannot be trusted. She may think you have been — beguiled, or taken in by my lies, or some such. My own brother...

[he trails off, hands tensing around his wounded elbow where it is healing.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject