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“Rhivesa, there is a question I have for you.”
Thancred looked over his shoulder, watching Y’shtola approach Mahri in the Waking Sands. The two had a history of being civil, but that was the extent of it (then again, that was most of the scope of Mahri’s interactions with the Scions: civil, but distant. The only exception was him, and he was mostly sure that was because he could see through her mask better than the others). He had a distinct feeling of jamais vu, looking at Mahri look up from a guidebook to arcanima.
“Asking is free, Rhul,” Mahri replied, picking up a bookmark and slotting it into the book (smart, must have observed Y’shtola’s tendencies to make conversations potentially longer than needs be).
Y’shtola flipped her goggles onto her face, which made both Thancred and Mahri blink. The subtle whir of the aether readings filled the backroom, making even Urianger pause in his work somewhere to Thancred’s left.
“Why is your aether fire-aspected?” Y’shtola asked, cutting right through what most people would consider tact. “Are you tempered?”
Mahri huffed a sigh. “Fuck’s sake, it’s not like I hide my mutation, Rhul. Put the goggles away before you see something you like.” She closed her book, then matter-of-factly gestured in a brusque manner towards her eyes. “My aether’s always been outlandish. Born: silver eyes.” She snapped her fingers. “Get too emotional as a pre-teen, spurt some fire magic, bam.” She snapped again, pointing to her right eye. “Both orange.” Pointed to her left eye. “More emotions, ice magic, bam.”
Y’shtola used the goggles to look at Mahri’s face a little closer (not getting in her physical space, Thancred thanked the gods for that Y’shtola “Academic Curiosity is my Mortal Sin” Rhul had enough tact for that) before putting them away. “I can see that. But your aether’s core is heavily fire-aspected in nature.”
“Yeah, that’d be post-Calamity Rhivesa for you,” Mahri answered. “A girl sleeps, all the ways away from Cartinaeu, and ends up almost dying all the same. Have a dream of a bird on fire and bam. My whole life’s flipped upside down.” Mahri snorts. “Then I see some fireworks on the way to Ul’dah, and then I’ve got the Echo. I can only assume that fire and I are on a first-name basis without me fully understanding how we got there.”
“A bird on fire...that doesn’t match descriptions of Ifrit.”
Mahri snorted. “Nope. Could be another primal, though.” Her deadpan expression melted away to an actually worrying countenance: somber acceptance. “If it is, just end it quick, would you, Y’shtola?”
The two miqo’te stared at each other for an extended, nearly unwieldy amount of time that made Thancred’s fingers twitch. Before he could stop himself, he moved from his perch on the outside, looking into the conversation, curling around the room’s edge before walking up behind Mahri’s chair.
“I don’t think there’ll be any need for that,” Thancred replied, ruffling Mahri’s short black hair between her ears. “Most tempered don’t exactly have that refreshing free will of yours.”
Mahri’s face cracked into a fraction of a smile. Thancred was confident that if he measured it, her smile would be four-tenths of an ilm. Without even fully thinking through the why, he promised himself that he’d get a full ilm smile out of her one of these days.
Y’shtola hummed. “And most wouldn’t ask to be killed if their existence’s real truth was revealed.” She smiled at Mahri softly. “Though, if you do turn out to be truly malign and deadly, I’ll do my best work.”
Mahri’s shoulders relaxed. Thancred leaned on the back of her chair, seemingly-casual. Mahri replied, “Good. Can’t have you going soft on me, Rhul.” Mahri sprang up from her chair. “Let’s go outside. I don’t think you’ve seen me in action.”
Y’shtola followed Mahri out, and Thancred ran a hand through his hair, watching them go.
“How the tables have turned on thee, Thancred,” Urianger remarked.
Thancred turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“It was not too long ago,” Urianger answered, “when similar situations occurred, wherein I was in Mahri’s position, thou were in Y’shtola’s position, and Moenbryda was in thine position.” He hummed, consideringly. “Mayhaps not in the same circumstances, not a perfect one-to-one mirror, mind thee. But perhaps now thou has some mote of understanding for why Moenbryda would, as thou once framed it, guard me.”
Thancred blinked. He blinked at Urianger again, flabbergasted. “This was, in no way, the same as me attempting to socialize with you, and Moenbryda thinking I was making you uncomfortable by flirting with you.”
“Y’shtola’s central social apparatus is academic in nature.” Urianger turned back to his study, pulling a couple of books to his desk from shelves. “Did it not occur to thee that she was, in her own way, breaking the ice between herself and our newest acquaintance?”
“She did not need to be so brusque about it,” Thancred carped.
Urianger concealed a smile behind his hood. “It is Shtola’s way to be blunt. As I recall, thou usually likes this faucet of her modus operandi. I am confident that, should she scare her away, Y’shtola would come to you for advice on how to bring Mahri back to the fold. Thou needn’t be frightened.”
Thancred snorted. “For all your purported wisdom, Urianger, you’ve certainly misread my emotions.” He straightened, brushing off his shirt. “I’ll check on the girls outside. Hopefully, they haven’t drawn a crowd.”
“Pragmatic as ever,” Urianger called after the bard as he left. He muttered to himself, “And still as emotionally constipated as ever, my friend.”