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

It's... It's not — I do not doubt you — I am sure you will reach Bervenia without incident — I simply — it's because you're doing it again!

[he finishes his soft-spoken stammering quite suddenly, with an abrupt shift in posture and expression; one second ramza is leaning against the windowsill with his free hand hanging loosely at his side, and the next, he has slammed that hand against the wall to accentuate his point.

ramza's been holding back — that much is clear — and isilud's question has tipped his frustration over the edge. this is, evidently, what was going to follow his earlier "but," save that he'd been trying to maintain some level of soft-spoken decency.

no longer.]

I told you yesterday, did I not, that I wanted no more of running off on your own and feeling unwanted? How, exactly, is this any different? Once more you have somehow come to the conclusion that we would be better off without you! Do I give the impression that I think the trip to Bervenia an unnecessary detour? Have I said aught to displease you? Has it not occurred to you that you might be of greater help traveling with us? Or is our company so unpleasant that you would take any opportunity to leave?

[taking a deep breath —] Your burdens are not only yours to carry, and letting others shoulder them does not make you weak. But if you want to leave, then by all means — leave!

[...]

[this would all be much more intimidating if ramza's immediate next action was not to flop face-first into his bed again, isilud's pendant still held in his grasp.]

[ Both Isilud and Mustadio flinch, but where Mustadio starts towards Ramza, Isilud stands otherwise still, stiffly so, letting the tirade sweep over him like a tidal wave. Show them kindness rings through his head. They look upon your anger and know not what to make of it.

Ramza's righteous anger echoes their exchange at Orbonne — but is it anger? It differs vastly from the brand of disappointment that Isilud is accustomed to facing. This time, there is no doubt in his mind that he has hurt Ramza. Ramza showed him kindness, over and over again, and he threw it back in his face.

Mustadio wavers between standing beside Ramza's bed and seating himself there, fidgeting with the length of leather cord he uses to tie back his hair. "Ramza..." He shoots Isilud a look. ]

Ramza, I... [ A few steps take Isilud across the room to Ramza's side, but he hangs back, his hands kept to himself after he catches them reaching out. ] The words you put in my mouth are not mine, I never said— [ He shakes his head. ] You've done nothing to drive me away. Truly. And it would pain me to leave you with such thoughts.

[ But is he wrong to look at himself and see a piece of luggage too many to cart around, at best, or worse, a boulder fastened to Ramza's ankle? Worse still, is the temptation that took even his father not sown in his mind, too? This self-imposed quest would have been his chance to silence these worries. ]

[ramza growls into his pillow, not unlike a dog or snarling wolf — but in the end he resurfaces to breathe, staring with half-lidded eyes at the leather cord in mustadio's hand, away from isilud.]

...No... I apologize. I spoke out of turn. I know you did not mean...

[he struggles to find words but comes up with none. it has been a long time since last he was angry with someone who was not his enemy. words, he thinks, come so much easier in the heat of battle.]

...As I said, if it is important to you, then do as you wish. But we would go with you, if you asked it.

Why?

[ The question tumbles from his lips, spurred by genuine bafflement. Ramza's frustration, that he can understand, but this, his persistent generosity? It cannot be bottomless. Together with Ramza's refusal to look at him, it is a contradiction that knocks Isilud off-balance. ]

Why delay your plans for mine? Why place yourself and your companions in harm's way? You do so needlessly!

[ Mustadio winces, perhaps in displeasure, perhaps in sympathy, though Isilud barely takes note. He finishes with a sigh not suppressed. ]

... I cannot ask it, Ramza, but I will travel with you.

[ramza sighs, fixes mustadio with a look, the sort one gives a friend when another friend is being an idiot, and rubs his free hand — still stinging slightly from when he'd slapped it against the wall — against the back of his neck.]

I am tempted, Mustadio, to tell him to go ask Agrias, but I fear she'd answer him with her fist and not her words.

[at last the beoulve pushes himself off the bed, sitting cross-legged on the mattress as he does a distressingly good imitation of agrias's gravelly, feminine voice. (mustadio jolts and blanches visibly, as he no doubt suddenly wonders how long ramza has been concealing this particular talent...)]

But she would say something like — "I may not trust you, but Ser Ramza does, so I am more than willing to give you the opportunity to prove your loyalties. Yet you persist in refusing our aid — for convenience's sake, and to shield us from some danger, you claim — but I find it more like you are keeping secrets from us. Or do you think we balk in the face of danger? Is it the Lionsguard you think craven, ser, or Ramza himself?"

[ When Ramza's impression of Agrias is done, Mustadio lets out a low whistle. His question is Isilud's, too, but Isilud puts it from his mind as he brings his fist down against one of the posts at the foot of Ramza's bed (unwise, for pain blossoms in his hand and travels the length of his forearm). ]

I think none of you craven! Not the Lionsguard and never you, Ramza!

[ He has his answer. Set out alone, and he convinces the others that he acts to further the Church's aims. They want him where they can see him — Ramza, with his eye for the broader picture, knows this.

Subdued, Isilud turns away, gathering up his blanket and pillow and returning them to Mustadio's bed. He collects his discarded armor after that and begins to fasten it back into place, in silence. ]

I did not think you did.

[with that said, ramza uncrosses his legs, and crosses the room, to take up one of the mugs of tea he'd set on their side table earlier. he drains it in one gulp, to wet his dry throat, and then sullenly begins gathering his own things: his bag, the stones, some maps, his dagger, his sword.

...there comes the sinking realization that he, too, needs to change into his traveling-clothes and his armor, but he really doesn't want to feel vulnerable, not now. he mutters something under his breath, inaudible, as he takes up his neatly folded pile of clothes and drops it unceremoniously on his bed.]

[ Would that he could take back every word out of his mouth this morning. Over his shoulder, he sneaks a glance at Ramza, whose mood seems darkened, and regret takes up residence within him, heavy and stifling. He opens his mouth one more time, but what is there to say? What can he say so that this damage is undone?

Suddenly, Mustadio claps a hand on his back. "Breakfast," he announces. "We could all do with some before it's back to our rations, what do you think?" His eyes find Ramza, and Isilud's take in Ramza's pile of clothing.

Of course — Ramza prefers his privacy.

Another twinge of regret. Isilud looks away, banishing cheerier memories of the previous night, and permits Mustadio to usher him through the door. ]

[ramza is grateful for mustadio's good sense, and finds himself wondering how he managed to travel so long without the machinist's company. once the door is closed, he sighs one final time, and with only empty beds to witness him, pulls off his shirt and pants.

he comes downstairs once all his affairs are settled and his things are laid out on his bed, ready to be slung onto belts and chocobo saddles. the bag holding the scriptures is already strapped to his thigh. it is still early, and the majority of their company is not yet awake, but the early risers — rapha and marach, agrias and her knights among them — have already helped themselves to breakfast.

the innkeeper has laid out a simple spread for all her guests to serve themselves from, though she is present to scold any overly greedy patrons. ramza takes a slice of bread, and a rather large serving of scrambled eggs, but does not earn her ire; instead, she gives him a once-over and tells him he needs to eat more.

he laughs.

the ex-khamja siblings have yet to shake off old habits. both rise and bow, mechanically, at ramza's approach; ramza, flustered, waves them off, saying something to the effect of there is no need for such formalities. he smiles. there is an awkward exchange of confused looks, all around, but he handles the situation with grace. one would not suspect that he had lost his temper only a few moments prior.

as he passes by agrias's table, alicia and lavian both raise their hands in greeting. they exchange morning pleasantries, and agrias asks if he slept well — but in the end, ramza takes a seat by the far side of the room, seemingly avoiding the table where isilud and mustadio are sitting.

at least, by his expression, the eggs are delicious.]

[ Although Mustadio regards the table where Agrias sits with a longing gaze, he stays seated across from Isilud, keeping a chair at their table set aside for Ramza, and the inviting smell of the food makes short work of any straying focus. Even Isilud, whose plate was pushed into his hands courtesy of Mustadio, relents and tries a bite. The flavour fills his mouth, every bit as delicious as his nose promised, but that mouthful might have metamorphosed into a stone on the way down, settling like a weight in the pit of his stomach when Ramza arrives and takes his meal to a solitary seat far away from Mustadio's chosen table. Mustadio raises both eyebrows.

On any other day, surely, they would have sat at one table together.

Isilud's fork sinks onto the edge of his plate. His gaze tracks Ramza until Mustadio's foot connects with his underneath the table as the machinist reminds him, helpfully, that his breakfast awaits in front of him and not balanced atop Ramza's head. A moment later, the innkeeper places a mug of some pungent concoction by his elbow, with the explanation that it is a tried-and-true remedy in the aftermath of a busy night, sure to drive out what ails him.

Isilud has his doubts that anyone could get close enough to take even a sip of the stuff. He waves off the help at first, but considers before long that he has already insulted too many people today, and, bracing himself, he lifts the mug to his lips.

The taste is fouler than the smell.

Valiantly (or foolishly), he forges on and swallows, fighting the urge to cough or fold in on himself, though his eyes water and his expression twists into a grimace. Mustadio — unhelpfully — bursts into laughter. ]

[the continuing saga of isilud's nonexistent alcoholism makes ramza laugh, too, his soft chuckle echoing mustadio's peal of laughter in the relatively uncrowded breakfast hall — but once he's caught laughing, he flushes, and redirects his gaze to his eggs.

the innkeeper is infinitely more fond of ramza than isilud, though both men have earned her concern, after a fashion. after placing her remedy by isilud's plate, she makes her way over to ramza's for the express purpose of fussing over the young beoulve. "anything you want to drink, love?" she asks, after laying a hand on his table to get his attention. "no need to be shy about it."

ramza accepts her concern with grace. "so long as it's no trouble to you, i would not object to a glass of milk."

the innkeeper obliges. she crosses back to her counter to fetch the drink he requested — "an' a bit of butter for your bread, too, while i'm at it," she announces, briskly, as she drops both the item he requested and the item he did not off on mustadio's table and not ramza's. her smile is delightfully smug. "the road's too long and life's too short to not sit with your friends over breakfast, love! come, now, your friend's sobered up and there's no need to quarrel still, is there?"

and, once more, ramza's cheeks turn pink over his eggs.]

Edited 2016-06-15 13:07 (UTC)

[ There is hope, where there is laughter — laughter of this sort, at least. Encouraged, even if his cheeks rival Ramza's in reddening, Isilud forces himself to drain the mug to its last dregs, no matter the looks he and Ramza draw. Rapha hides her amusement behind the rim of her teacup, before her eyes turn searching, while her brother's brows arch (what on earth do they think he did to diminish Ramza's goodwill after all, in his supposed drunkenness?).

The innkeeper receives a surprised but grateful glance for her intervention, but Ramza hasn't budged, and his glass of milk and the butter sit waiting.

The expectant silence stretches on another moment, and then Isilud rises, picks up both milk and butter, and carries them to Ramza's table. There, he sets them down near Ramza's plate, but remains standing. Mustadio, on the other hand, slides into a chair facing his friend. "Best scrambled eggs in all Ivalice," he remarks, an end to the hush around the hall. "A strange man you are, Isilud, to turn your nose up at them." ]

Edited 2016-06-15 18:58 (UTC)

[the woman titters over mustadio's compliment — for undoubtedly it is she who scrambled the eggs — and makes her way back to the counter, apparently pleased with the reconciliation of all parties involved. could she have heard part of ramza's earlier tirade? or were her actions merely driven by a keen eye for breakfast-table relations?

at any rate, it matters little to ramza, who feels quite certain that he could die from the shame of having an innocent innkeeper correctly (well, semi-correctly) diagnose and treat his hurts. awkwardly, he picks up his knife and begins spreading butter into his slice of bread.]

...You don't like eggs, Isilud? [ramza wouldn't know; he still hasn't lifted his eyes to look at the knight's plate yet, but he sees mustadio's across from him, laden with food.] They're very good, you know, with only a pinch of salt to flavor them...

[ This must be how Mustadio seeks satisfaction for his tumble from the shelves of Orbonne's vaults, but it prompts Ramza to speak, and Isilud chooses to interpret that as another encouraging sign and consent granted for him to take a seat at Ramza's table. As he moves to claim a chair, he gives Ramza's question a moment's thought. ]

The eggs are... [ All the way over on the other side of the room, where he left his plate. ]

—Fit for the gods.

[ And it would offend the innkeeper to let her toiling go unappreciated. Isilud returns for the plate and his emptied mug, eyeing the latter as he contemplates asking for some water to cleanse away the ghost of that brew still coating his tongue, but the eggs will have to do, he decides hastily upon catching the innkeeper's flat stare (so flat that it could counterbalance Ivalice's hills and mountains), meant solely for him. How he has been saddled with a reputation that paints him overfond of drink, without going near the tavern and touching a single drop, has him dumbfounded — and half wishing that he had so easily rectified an excuse for his behaviour. Whatever the case may be, he deems it wise not to stoke the woman's imagination when she looks upon Ramza with an almost motherly eye.

The double-edged sword of being blessed with longer legs strikes once Isilud drops himself into the free chair opposite Ramza's. His legs invade Ramza's side of the table, until he pulls them back and tucks them away. Furtively while he leans over his plate, he watches Ramza's face in an attempt to read the expression there. Are they quarrelling?

It seems ill-timed to mention his mother's pendant. ]

[the accidental contact prompts ramza to look up; his thick lashes almost look as if they brush his cheeks when he blinks and turns back to his plate. it's not as though he's still angry with isilud — it's just that he can't quite bring himself to meet the other man's gaze.

if anything, ramza is ashamed of his earlier behavior, but something about mustadio's relentlessly casual attitude from the other side of the table makes him decide that it might be better to just forget what was said rather than apologize again.]

...I suspect we'll not find fare so exquisite in Bervenia. But Count Orlandeau might prepare for us a warmer welcome.

[ Still Ramza refuses to look at him. They barely make eye contact before Ramza's gaze lowers once more — but then, he has his slice of buttered bread, his scrambled eggs, his glass of milk to busy himself with. To observe him so closely borders on rudeness, and Isilud resolves to let Ramza and the others have their breakfast in peace. No more of this staring and nearly dropping forkfuls of egg in his lap while Ramza and Mustadio simply wish to chew and swallow their food uninterrupted.

Bervenia.

Now the word stings like a slap. In the process of shovelling his breakfast into his mouth without giving himself too much time to think — too much time to sit here, doing nothing though Ivalice hurtles down the road to ruin — Isilud's reply comes delayed. He keeps his eyes on his plate. ]

... Milk and eggs should be no task to find.

[ Mustadio turns in his chair with a grin. "Why not ask the innkeeper for her recipe, Ramza? You are her favourite guest." ]

[even flustered by the suggestion that he has somehow managed to win the innkeeper's favor, ramza still manages to conjure up some ire for mustadio's benefit.]

She — she thinks me young and inexperienced, that's all... Whatever would I do with the recipe anyway? Use my breastplate for a skillet over our campfires?

[a heavy weight seems to lie between isilud and ramza, not least because now neither is willing to make eye contact with the other — when at ramza's gaze turns to his side, the knight is staring into his plate as if the eggs might bring him closure. ramza looks at mustadio instead.]

...Though, it would be nice if we could do our own cooking on the road. I am thankful for what we have, of course, but I cannot help but tire of our dried meats from time to time...

[tentatively, he adds:]

...What say you, Isilud? Have you any flair for the culinary arts?

[ "Not your breastplate," Mustadio replies airily, "but Ladd's might make a fair skillet, if his complaints are anything to go by!" The man himself and his eternally chafing armor are absent from the breakfast hall even when the first stragglers trickle in with their greetings and help themselves to the innkeeper's shrinking spread. "Just the size to fry wild chocobo eggs..."

Hearing his name on Ramza's lips, Isilud sits up as though at attention, fork lowered as he hazards lifting his gaze to seek Ramza's. These questions that Ramza asks are peace offerings, and his heart is open to their purpose. ]

To scramble your eggs? [ A shrug fills the pause before he continues. ] Flair... no. But I could learn.

[ For some unfathomable reason, Mustadio has fresh laughter to disguise, leading him to chortle around a mouthful of his eggs and hasten to cover it up. ]

[ramza is looking at isilud — at least, for a second. he breaks their eye contact once more, but this time only because mustadio's stifled laughter catches his attention, and ramza's brow furrows in confusion.

the familiar temptation to punch mustadio rises up in ramza's throat, as he vaguely suspects that the machinist is laughing over the thought of isilud learning to scramble his eggs — but a good friend does not punch another good friend over possible innuendos, and in the end, ramza lets it slide. "try not to choke on your breakfast, mustadio," he quips, dryly. "i can save you from a great many things, but not yourself."]

...We had servants to prepare our meals at Eagrose, of course, but my lord father always said that every man should know how to make his own meals — be he noble or common. So I learned...

[talking about his past — pampered, coddled, privileged — feels odd to him, as always, and ramza rather hastily redirects the subject, returning to the topic of eggs.]

But I rather doubt that we would need wild eggs, in truth. Boco keeps laying his own — or, rather, he comes up with them somehow, he can't be laying them — I am certain that he is no mare...

[ Is it so ridiculous a thought to imagine him cooking a meal, and doing it well? Yet despite Isilud's mildly affronted confusion, he would rather see Ramza and his friends laugh than spoil their days, and so he lets Mustadio recover in his own time, focusing instead on the fleeting glimpse that Ramza grants them of his life before handbills and false holy relics. He understands Ramza's haste to leave that topic behind, he thinks, but he offers a smile for the wisdom in Barbaneth Beoulve's advice.

Bit by bit, the tension at their table seems to lessen. ]

Few would unless forced.

[ Mullonde employs servants, too. The High Confessor's hands are not for worldly things such as skillets and eggs to crack.

That thought should never have taken form, and some part of Isilud expects the gods to strike him down where he sits — but the High Confessor is a man (or has Virgo or some other demonic pact claimed his soul?). Should Ivalice rebuilt not be a world that makes no distinction between any of her children?

The morning feels too early and Isilud's head too heavy from poor sleep for his simmering questions and doubts.

Mention of Boco is Mustadio's opening to reach across the table and seize Ramza's hand, shaking his head. "That, Ramza, is the way to madness. I asked myself the same thing... In any case, I suppose we could take turns!" ]

[the look on ramza's face is almost dreamy as he stares at isilud — or rather, at the space just above isilud's head. for one brief moment he indulges in a childhood memory: the kitchens at eagrose, fresh fruit on the counter, and alma by ramza's side; zalbaag, out of his armor for once, cursing faintly under his breath while whisking flour and eggs into a bowl, swearing no mercy for the fiend that stole the tarts he'd made for his half-siblings, not even if it were dycedarg, and especially if it were dycedarg —

dycedarg, never present in the kitchen, for he had learned just enough of barbaneth beoulve's recipes to satisfy the man, and then promptly forgot all of them.

mustadio's hand shakes ramza out of his reverie.]

Take turns doing what? The cooking, or the... stalking Boco through the night to determine which Lucavi demons bring him his eggs?

[ Ramza's gaze is briefly unfocused, the look of a man whose thoughts have wandered a distance from the conversation at hand, but peering upward to follow it reveals nothing to Isilud, and then it clears. Isilud's is curious, drifting back to rest on Ramza's face. He forgoes pressing for more and leaves Ramza and Mustadio to their discussion of cooking and Boco's eggs.

It isn't that he feels unwelcome at this table. He is torn; something restless still stirs in the recesses of his mind, but he holds his tongue. It is sensible to use their stay in Gollund to the fullest. It does no harm.

And if he chances requesting some water, it harms no one, either, he considers with another glance into his mug and the guilty realization that, earlier, Ramza had brought to their room a pot of tea to share.

"... Both," comes Mustadio's sage answer. He strokes his chin. "I'm sure there's some explanation to uncover. Only to solve our great mystery, of course, or Boco would never forgive us. Isilud, you've raised your hand for one, what do you say to the other?" ]

... I? Truly?

[ As if turning to Ramza for help, Isilud looks across the table once more, but Ladd's timely arrival just then means that he is spared. ]

[ladd is a man with gaffgarion's bad manners but his own good heart — and something of ramza's dreamy-eyed look to him, as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and scratches idly at his scalp. he tries, hopelessly, to smooth his shock of dark blond hair flat across his nape, but it continues to stand at odd ends, and in the end he gives up on his particularly bad case of morning bedhead in favor of setting his plate at ramza's side, directly across from isilud. his breakfast is composed mostly of sausage — he must have somehow managed to slip past the innkeeper's watchful gaze.

"did you sleep well, boys?" he asks, with a stifled yawn; he takes up his fork and pokes almost blindly at a cut of sausage. "you were all aware that there were two rooms set aside for the men, yes? well, not counting the fellow who slept with his sister, that is. oh, pray do not look at me so — that's not what i meant. but i went to bed on my own, and i woke up on my own. passing lonesome, i daresay. whatever were you all doing?"

ramza, wisely, does not answer his question.] What are your thoughts on skillets, Ladd?

[the former sellsword has utter incomprehension written in the squint of his eyes. "skillets?"]

There was one being sold here that I thought rather well-made. I suppose it might be cumbersome to carry, but we could simply store it with our weaponry... and we might use it as a substitute weapon, if too many of our swords are broken in the heat of battle...

[ladd has been with ramza longer than either mustadio or isilud, but he turns to them now for answers, knowing full well he won't get any from the heretic-leader himself. "has he gone mad at last?" he demands, looking between the two men.]

[ Ladd is out of luck. Mustadio, his expression too serene, pops another forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "I'm with Ramza. Close range backup for my pistol," he mimes wielding their versatile skillet in battle, "eggs for breakfast... Isilud's just stepped forward. I see nothing mad here!"

Isilud has even fewer answers to give Ladd, caught somewhere between a tickle of amusement and his continued problem of never being entirely certain that Ramza and Mustadio are not carrying on a bit of fun to have together. Mustadio might be the sort, but Ramza's solemn demeanour betrays no hidden thinking behind his musings on the merits of skillets. Pushing his chair back, Isilud rises from his seat, hands flat on the table's surface. ]

Who sells it?

[ If Ramza has gone mad, that madness apparently runs rampant at his table. ]

[mustadio and ramza share a rare and natural synchronicity that is almost entirely useless except for when improvising unrehearsed comedy routines — in this case, ramza nods overly-serious agreement while mustadio mimes smacking an imaginary opponent with a frying-pan.

meanwhile, on the opposite side of sanity, ladd gawks at the proceedings (and marach stares daggers at ladd from across the room, no doubt because the netherseer overheard his earlier comment about sleeping with sisters).

nevertheless, ramza's skillet-purchasing fantasies are not entirely an invention born for humor's sake — he answers isilud's inquiry with an earnest honesty that suggests that he really did spend time window-shopping in gollund's snowy streets.]

The local blacksmith. Apparently, he deals in weaponry and in household ironware. Perhaps I should take a second look before we leave...

["must i rephrase my question? have you all gone mad at last?" ladd wonders, over a mouthful of breakfast.]

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