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[arkitect]

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The morning after the TDM!

[soulsees]

( When Emet-Selch wakes, it's likely the first thing he'll smell is the appetising aroma of fresh coffee wafting into the bedroom from somewhere further inside the apartment. Hythlodaeus's government-issued housing is relatively humble — it's clean and tidy, with much of the same decor and accents found elsewhere in Sumarlok — but the single bedroom and small lounge suggest it wasn't created with luxury in mind. As such, the sound of an ancient tune lost to time will likely filter through as well: Hythlodaeus is humming as he works, or so it would seem, and something is making him think of home.

Of Amaurot, and the world they once shared.

A few long moments pass before the humming finally stops, followed by the soft pad of footsteps appoaching the bedroom again. Hythlodaeus slips in with a tray held between both hands: coffee, and fresh juice should Emet-Selch find himself in the mood for something sweeter, as well as a plate of what appears to be slice apples and honey for dipping.

A light breakfast, but then he suspects neither of them will be in the mood for anything heavier. Unsure whether he's actually awake, Hythlodaeus moves over to the far side of the bed and sets the tray down atop the bedside table, where he admires his handiwork for a moment before climbing back onto the mattress. He's dressed for the morning in what appears to be a large, loose cardigan made from some kind of fluffy lilac material, and a pair of soft knitted socks that reach up over the knee to his thighs. Setting his back against the headboard, Hythlodaeus folds his legs to the side as he shifts to look down at his bedmate, one finger reaching out to stroke a lock of dark hair back behind the shell of his ear.

If he's still sleeping, Hythlodaeus will let him rest. No need to hurry such a quiet moment — not one he's been aching for for over ten thousand years. )

[arkitect]

[It's almost enough, in the moments before he opens his eyes, to think he either truly has returned to the sea-- or that he's returned, somehow, to the past. There's a familiar warmth to the scent of the place, to that tune hummed by a familiar voice, and while he is awake... he keeps his eyes closed a little longer. If it's a dream, it's a nicer one than he's had in years.

Hythlodaeus brushes a lock of his hair back, though, and while it would be easy to pretend he's still sleeping (especially now that he's beginning to recall what happened before he went to bed)... well. If there's one person he is not inclined to ignore, it's Hythlodaeus. He cracks one golden eye open-

And silently takes Hyth in, caught somewhat off guard. No robes. Barely any clothes at all-- are those just socks?]

Hythlodaeus, what in creation are you wearing?

[hello good morning hope he expected that sweet moment not to last long]

[soulsees]

( Hythlodaes's eyes crinkle into a smile at Emet-Selch's morning greeting, before letting the fingertip toying with the hair by his ear trace a path along the line of his jaw, up his chin, to press the pad against the bow of his lips. )

Do hush. You're in my house now, Emet-Selch, and I won't be ridiculed first thing in the morning.

( He teases, tapping Emet-Selch's lips just the once before moving to fluff his pillows and settle more comfortably. )

Besides, what I wear behind my own closed doors is hardly anyone else's business, is it?

( With his hair unbraided and his cardigan slipping down one shoulder he looks the picture of lazy comfort, his eyes slipping closed for a content little moment before opening to look at Emet again. )

I made coffee. You take it the same as ever, I hope?

( And he seems genuinely hopeful, his eyebrows ever so slightly raised his lips quirk into a playful smile. )

text | un: constellations

[voidgates]

i have a question about the workings of aether

what would your price be in exchange for answering it for me?

[arkitect]

I am highly tempted to consider my price 'any conversation other than the recent ridiculousness', but if your question is sufficiently interesting... I suppose I may go along.

[voidgates]

recent ridiculousness? what's that supposed to mean?

the question is about balancing aspected aether
or rather
what negates an overbalance

is an element canceled out by its opposite
or is it only canceled by a balancing amount of the other five elements

or both

End-ish of the month!

[soulsees]

( Too late, Hythlodaeus realises that something is very wrong. There's a burst of Manna - a twitch in the fingertips of the woman who'd fallen - but then his knees give way as his own resereves deplete to near nothing. It's a curious feeling to suddenly know you're likely a few breaths away from your own end: something he's experienced before, of course, but under rather different circumstances.

Best not think about that. In a sluggish daze, Hythlodaeus pushes a hand into his pocket to retrieve the little device tucked within. Time is short, after all, and there is a message he needs to send. )

Emet-Selch




There was much I should have told you

I am sorry

[arkitect]

[He receives that message, and immediately feels as if a chill runs through him. The abrupt apology sparks more questions than anything, lacking in context as it is, and the response comes quickly. ]

Hythlodaeus, what are you talking about

Where are you?

[soulsees]

( A warm wash of relief spreads through Hythlodaeus at Emet-Selch's reply. It isn't so much the content of the message that soothes him, but rather the fact that he now knows his own was reveived, which means Hythlodaeus can let the device slip from his fingertips knowing that he's been able to say goodbye.

It hurts, of course. It hurts to have spent so many thousands of years waiting to stand by his side again, only to have the moment cut short by a foolish decision borne of guilt. He laughs a little breathlessly - a little sadly - as he lets himself slump to the side, those dark lashes fluttering just the once as he struggles to hold on to what energy he has left.

It isn't like that day in Amaurot. That day he'd been prepared to leave Emet-Selch and Azem both: his sacrifice would be the most he could possibly do to save the future of their Star. By comparison, his mistake rings not a little hollow. A life was saved, yes, but Hythlodaeus knows in his heart he would never have given his life willingly for anything less than his dear friend.

Ah, well.

Life so rarely unfolds according to plan, doesn't it? )

text | un: constellations

[voidgates]

when you became a member of the convocation of fourteen

did you have to give up your name to take on your title instead?

[arkitect]

Certain someones were quite hard-pressed to let it go, at least in private-- but for near all intents and purposes, yes, I gave it up.

[voidgates]

you could just say azem and hythlodaeus you know
it's not hard to guess who "certain someones" might be

was there ever a point when you felt
i'm not sure how to ask this exactly

did you ever find yourself feeling as though you'd stopped being the person you were when your name was just your name

and without quite realizing it you'd just become someone called emet-selch instead

Good boy 8)

[soulsees]

( The Synchrony has helped enormously. While it had left them bboth feeling a little drained of energy for the first day or so, Hythlodaeus has found his road to recovery significantly shortened thanks to Emet-Selch's care and attention. it hasn't been an easy few days; as he's drifted in and out of consciousness there's been a great deal on Hythlodaeus's mind, but now that he's feeling a little more like himself ...

Well. He can begin to process their conversations.

It's difficult to be faced with the truth of Emet-Selch's change. He is himself, yes, and Hythlodaeus wants to argue that he'll always be that brilliant, grumpy genius from their past, but the more time he spends with him the easier it is to see how the years have affected his friend. His body is different. Emet-Selch never used to slouch. There is, perhaps, an occasional lick of cruelty in words that would never have seemed cruel before — never directed at Hythlodaeus, of course, but towards those around them.

He loves him still. In many ways he supposes it makes him the worst kind of hypocrite — but then perhaps there's no comparing Emet-Selch's atrocities to Hermes'. Perhaps they both deserve to have people who'll love them and help them take those first steps out from the dark.

This is what he's considering as he flips through yet another property cataloge, relaxed and reclined on the couch in one of Emet-Selch's robes as he awaits his cup of tea. Hythlodaeus could certainly get it himself, but he's taken quite a liking to Emet-Selch's insistence on fussing over him, and so he's happy to remain comfortably settled against the cushions as he awaits his drink. Perhaps it's something to do with his transformation this month — canines are a man's best friend, or so he's been told — and if that's the case?

Well. There'll be some gentle teasing about it when the transformation leaves them, make no mistake about that. )

[arkitect]

[Maybe some of it has a bit to do with the transformation. He'd never spend time in an animal shape otherwise, but it seems to comfort Hythlodaeus to have a wolf curled up with him-- so he keeps doing it. There's something of the pack animal instinct in the way he remains close, ensures Hyth has what he needs; yes, he'd care for him regardless, but he probably wouldn't be quite so physical about it under other circumstances.

He's refusing to acknowledge it. It's already embarrassing enough to be so canine in form, even when he's on two legs.

When he returns with Hythlodaeus's tea, he pauses a moment before bringing it over to him-- he finds he's actually quite taken by coming in to find him like this, comfortable in one of his robes. It looks good on him. It'll smell like Hythlodaeus, later.]

There. Abominable amount of sugar and all.

[Emet-Selch presses the cup into his hands with a slight roll of his eyes, at that, settling on the couch with him.]

[soulsees]

( Hythlodaeus is drawn from the depths of his thoughts when Emet-Selch enters the room again, his expression lifting with warmth as he reaches out to take the proffered cup. )

Well, we can't all be sourpusses — not like some people I could mention.

( He replies lightly, the tail-end of an eyebrow lifting a little way in amusement at his own joke — because Emet-Selch is canine this month, not feline. He chuckles into the back of his knockles before setting the too-hot cup down on the side table, and is almost absent-minded in the way he leans over to rub his fingers against one of Emet-Selch's silky ears. )

Good boy.

( He hums — then catches himself with a startled little sound at how easily it had come. Emet-Selch has been especially good for him lately — even going so far as to carry him to his bath, helping him wrap up in towels afterwards — but to call him a good boy ...

In his defence, it's an easy slip to make when he's looking as wolf-like as he is! He doesn't move, doesn't cease his rubbing, but rather waits for Emet-Selch to respond, and watches him closely for any signs of outrage in the meanwhile. )

look i know i wrote a novel but also i just have a lot of feelings

[voidgates]

[It's late one night, a few days after her retrieval from the Crater and return to the city proper, when Summer finds herself lying awake wondering whether knowledge of the future is a kindness.

It's something she's had experience with, now, in a variety of ways. G'raha had kept the future from her, back when she'd first arrived in Sumarlok moons ago, and they'd discovered that he remembered much and more of the goings-on of their star than she did because he'd already lived through something she hadn't. He'd told her, then, that he would leave her the joy of experiencing it firsthand. And she'd wondered, yes, but she'd never really wondered — even when the other shards similar to her remembered things she didn't, even when they pressed her about facts and people and locales she couldn't recall because she'd not even met them yet — because she'd had faith in the only thing that really mattered: that it would turn out all right, because G'raha had given no indication that it wouldn't.

There's an irony to all that, now. A deep melancholy, too — to suddenly be cognizant of everything he must've known and had to keep from her, the things he'd known were in her future that he'd hidden in order to leave her a measure of bliss in ignorance. He must have looked at her and known that she would have her soul ripped from her own body in Garlemald. That she would be unwittingly and unwillingly pitted against Zodiark. That the skies over Thavnair would turn red. That he would leave her, again, and make her most horrible nightmares a reality by his own willing choice, for the sake of the star they were both fighting to save.

Tis not so very hard to stomach, all told, for all that she might not like it. Raha has always known more of her future than he rightly ought to, even from the very moment he'd first reached out to her from the First under the guise of the Crystal Exarch. It's something she's used to trusting him with. She's used to trusting him with the whole of herself.

But she lies there in bed and finds herself turning Azem's crystal over and over again in her fingers, the weight and balance of it making it roll smoothly over each in its turn while her Elpis blossom turns faintly violet at her bedside. For the second time, now, she's come to hold the knowledge of someone else's future in her own hands, and — and she's not the Crystal Exarch, for all that they both love their secrets. He kept his counsel for the sake of ensuring the success of his aims. She keeps hers because secrets are precious things, in and of themselves.

The secret she's harboring isn't hers to keep. But she's not sure it's hers to give, either.

Would it be cruel to tell him? Would it be crueler not to? Would he even listen, even believe her if she tried? Does he already know, thanks to whatever intervention Hythlodaeus surely must've made himself long before? Does he know and wish he didn't? Would telling him only make things worse?

I wonder — is Emet-Selch adrift somewhere in this aetherial sea, in defeat finally remembering your time together in Elpis? How it must gall him — to be entrusted with knowledge of the Final Days, only to be rendered powerless to act upon it! So many lifetimes dedicated to restoring his beloved Amaurot in blissful ignorance. Oh, folly.

Not just his beloved Amaurot, she thinks bitterly. Theirs. Their Amaurot, their world unsundered. She's seen it, now — not just a ghost of a memory beneath the waves but true, whole, alive. Stolen away, and for what? The ephemeral answer to a question posed desperate and flawed in its very design.

Fuck you, Fandaniel, she thinks at no one in particular, and lands the smooth orange stone in her palm, gripping it until the carving of the sun presses a soft indentation of its shape into the flesh beneath it.]

You'd come running for a friend. I wonder if you'll do it for a familiar old familiar.

[She's always exhausted, lately, and making use of Azem's invocation in a place like this is always particularly taxing. But there's only one person she's seeking to call to, this time, instead of seven — and if the golden glow that encircles her bed is dimmer and paler than usual, it's at least none the less complete for it.]

Please, Emet-Selch.

[She squeezes the crystal tight, and calls, and wonders what answer — if any at all — that she'll earn when she eventually reopens her eyes.]

[arkitect]

[It's not like he missed her being here, or anything.

They aren't friends. He insists upon it. Her disappearance was an annoyance more than anything, an unwelcome reminder such things could happen here, and he most certainly didn't find himself lacking for her conversational company. She's tolerable at best, which is more than he'd say for most--

Which, of course, is all there is to it. She is the most tolerable of the shards, and it is an annoyance that this place seemingly decided to spirit her elsewhere, of all possible souls.

When he feels the tug of a familiar summoning, though, he traces the magic back to its source; he fixes his soulsight upon the aether he finds there, and nearly drops the book he's reading in surprise. He should have noticed this already. (But if he had, then he would have been looking more than once every couple of days, and that simply couldn't stand.)

The rush of aether is unmistakable, given how much of it composes him. For another mage, his appearance couldn't possibly be missed-- he's standing there in a comfortable black velvet houserobe when she opens her eyes, arms folded as he glowers down at her.]

So you've seen fit to return after all. Just what did you think you were doing?

[voidgates]

[The terrible thing is, she almost laughs. Strange how the same carping annoyance can take on such a different character, once she's had more insight into what's behind it. He really has been like this his entire long, long life, hasn't he? Mayhap it's good to know that this is one thing about him that's gone unravaged by the centuries of time. One more thing that remained of the man who was Emet-Selch even before his descent into megalomaniacal madness.]

Causing trouble for you, what else?

[Twelve above, how many times had he told her to behave herself while in Elpis? If she'd taken even a half-drink for every one, she'd be deeper in her cups than Thancred on one of his most profound nights of reveling.

She wonders what it is she'd just dragged him from. Some sort of leisure, if his attire is any indication. Well, so much the better. It's good to know he does, in fact, spare a moment for himself every once in a while, these days.]

How did you know I was gone? The fact that you were finally afforded some peace and quiet?

November transformation!

[soulsees]

Come now, don't be such a spoil-spot. It's just a little light tresspassing, after all.

( As usual, there's a gleam of mischied in violet eyes as he unloops his arm from Emet-Selch's and heads towards the low wooden fence. Moving to Primavera has been a breath of fresh air for Hythlodaeus: quite literally, as it happens, what with the clean air and lush scent of nature that permeates every corner of Primavera. He feels a sense of settling here that he never quite experienced in the hustle and bustle of Sumarlok — the similarities to Amaurot became oppressive, they became too much, and Hythlodaeus is pleased to leave it behind.

Emet-Selch visits frequently, of course. Their sleepovers are regular enough that Hythlodaeus has gone so far as to set aisde drawer and wardrobe space for him; has a nightstand on his preferred side of the bed, keeps his slippers on hand for the nights when he shows up in an unannounced swirl of inky shadow. Sometimes these sleepovers lead to next-day activities such as this: Hythlodaeus is still exploring the lands surrounding his new home, and he's always pleased to have the company of his dear friend.

This time, he's on a mission to locate the perfect picnic spot. Important business, or so he'd claimed to Emet-Selch, who is currently being encouraged to join him in the harmless crime of tresspassing across a meadow. The grass is tall, the flowers are beautiful, but the land appears to be private—

And yet Hythlodaeus is certain the small copse of trees beyond will prove the perfect spot to settle with sandwiches in the foreseeable future. Determined, he hikes up the voluminous skirts of his rope to reveal familiar hupodema, but the pants? No-where to be seen; Hythlodaeus's long, bare legs are very much on display as he moves to climb over the fence. )

We'll be on the other side of the meadow before you know it!

[arkitect]

I certainly cannot claim to be concerned for their property, but really, have you no restraint?

[Honestly. Hythlodaeus has set his sights on this, though, and he knows well enough he'll be dragged in one way or another; if he somehow manages to find trouble, then Emet-Selch will be here for it.

...and given the nature of his emerald gembond, he finds himself fonder of Primavera as well, at ease with how natural it feels, how full of life. Normally he would prefer Sumarlok himself, but there is a pleasantness to it that he finds difficult to object to. Today more so than usual; he hasn't quite pinpointed it yet, but he feels even more comfortable out here among the grass and flowers.

That comfort goes out the window when he realizes Hythlodaeus's legs are bare.]

Wh-- Hythlodaeus, what in creation are you wearing?!

[Rather, not wearing.]

[soulsees]

Hm?

( Hythlodaeus glances back over his shoulder, his expression a picture of innocence as he offers an easy grin. )

Why my robes, of course! I thought you preferred me in them — I appreciate that seeing me in anything else is still a bit of a shock to the system.

( Said as though he doesn't know Emet-Selch is talking about the long, bare legs currently on display for all to see. He hasn't hiked up his robe so far that to reveal a flash of underwear — he'll let Emet sweat about that a while longer — although there might be a hint of dark red lace as he swings his leg over to jump down on the other side. )

Come on, your turn!

→ DELIVERY

[voidgates]

[No one knows how this particular box turns up at Hyth's residence, which means it's probably the work of Wind-Up Thancred, small and stealthy ninja that he is. There is no name on the box, and it comes wrapped in plain brown packaging. Really, there's nothing festive about it at all.

The handmade coffee-flavored chocolates found within, indeed, are equally plain and hardly festive. The note that accompanies them, tucked carefully inside the lid of the box, is both handwritten and unsigned: ]

Once upon a time there lived a man named Hades who didn't like sweet things even though his friends did.

No one got him anything for Starlight.

And even if they did, who could prove it?

Backdated Starlight morning!

[soulsees]

( Hythlodaeus has grown accustomed to waking slowly when sharing his bed with Emet-Selch. Their lazy ritual is a far cry from the mornings they shared before Zodiark: those were too early, too hurried, one inevitably having to leave without the other on some matter of vague (or indeed, serious) importance. Now, he relishes in being able to simply enjoy the feeling of Emet's body pressed warm against his own — or in this case, encased in the tangle of his limbs. )

Mm.

( A smile curves against Emet-Selch's shoulder as he soaks in his warmth, in the solid feel of him, one palm stroking back and forth across the dusting of hair in the centre of his chest. Hythlodaeus wakes up in increments — little bit by little bit until he's cognizant enough to pull himself into a luxurious stretch, before finally leaning in and pressing a kiss to the lobe of Emet-Selch's ear. )

Are you awake?

( His voice is husky with sleep; he kisses again, then misceviously pinches at one of his nipples to encourage him into the waking world. The thing is, this isn't just any ordinary morning: apparently it's the day of Eorzea's Starlight Festival and Hythlodaeus has gifts for him. Unwrapping his limbs from around him, Hythlodaeus shifts just enough that he can prop himself up on an elbow beside him, his unbound hair a mess around his shoulders as he brushes the flash of white back from Emet's brow. When he speaks again there's a lilt of mischief in his tone: )

... Don't pretend, and make me look at your soul. You know I will.

[arkitect]

...mngh.

[He grumbles as Hythlodaeus pinches his chest, eyes squeezed shut like he can get five more minutes if he just ignores him. Emet-Selch has woken in increments, too, gently roused by Hyth's persistent touch and jolted fully into wakefulness by the more forceful attention-- by now, he's awake enough, and he shifts to roll over onto his back. One golden eye cracks open to peer up at him-

And ah, for all that he complains about being woken, he thinks he might never tire of this. A sight he thought once he would never see again: Hythlodaeus all rumpled from sleep, leaning over him with a smile, ethereal in his beauty even with his messy hair cascading down his shoulder. More beautiful like this, maybe-- moreso for the fact that he's been here the whole night, that they can wake together again and Emet-Selch knows for a certainty he's not dreaming. (His nipple wouldn't still ache lightly from the pinch if he were. Damn the gremlin nature of his partner.)]

I suppose I am awake, yes, thanks to your persistence.

[There's no heat behind the grouching, perfunctory as it often is.]

[soulsees]

Beautiful.

( Hythlodaeus just chuckles before leaning down to catch his lips in an easy kiss; chaste and quick, but no less warm with affection. With Emet on his back he moves to rest his hand against his chest again — he's always seeking touch, this one, wherever he can get it, even when his lover is making a good show of grouching and grumping about it. )

Come now, if not for my persistence we'd never have got anywhere.

( He teases, in clear reference to Emet's tendency to clam up, frown, and get to huffing instead of addressing matters of emotion. )

... I believe I'm supposed to wish you a Happy Starlight.

( At this, a curling smile settles across his lips. There's really no point in trying to play it cool: Hythlodaeus has been preparing for the day for about a week, decking his home out in wreaths, ribbons, and all manner of sparkling things in an attempt to fully embrace the festive season. Yesterday was given over to food preparation — it looks like it's going to be a peculiar hodgepodge of ancient recipies and new dishes — and he's evidently looking forward to getting it all in the oven. )

My very first! I'm glad to be sharing it with you — the starlight all my own.