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“Is there a particular reason you are in my room, Ascian?” You snipe at the man as you shut the door to your room. Emet-Selch smirks at you from where he is draped over a chaise lounge that you definitely don’t remember being there previously. He takes a moment to bat his eyes at you at what you think is meant to be coquettish but mostly just comes across as vaguely menacing.
“Why my dear, I come with only the purest of intentions,” you snort derisively which Emet-Selch ignores, “an offering.” He snaps his fingers and gestures one gloved hand toward the frankly unnecessarily large dinner table. You start to make a comment about how you weren’t a primal, and wouldn’t trust an Ascian’s ‘offering’ anyways, but your voice trails off at the veritable feast that was also definitely not there previously.
You blink.
“I do believe it is one of your Eorzean holidays today, yes?”
“I’m not Eorzean,” you say automatically.
Emet-Selch shrugs. “It is a holiday you observe nonetheless, yes? The celebration of,” he flaps his hand around, “love and affection, eros and such.”
Truth be told with the constant jumping between the First and the Source you’d stopped even trying to keep track of time. Not to mention, the last time you had even celebrated Valentione’s had been…
“Sometimes I do.” You set your pack down on the ground and turn around away from him, and begin to unbuckle your shoes. “The events can be sweet.” Sighing in relief you curl your toes in your tights, enjoying having them no longer confined by the restricting leather. “But what I don’t understand is why you’d want to celebrate Valentione’s with me.” You look over your shoulder at him, eyes calculating. “It is a day for love, after all.”
Emet-Selch sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been lounging like a particularly content cat. “You mortals truly have the most narrow-minded perception of love. Love is more than simple sex, my dear. Have you never read any Sharlayan scripts on the concept?”
You feel a light blush begin to darken your cheeks. “Until I received the Echo I couldn’t…read most Eorzean.”
Emet-Selch purses his lips, then sighs dramatically. “Eros, agape, storge, and philia my dear. The love of a spouse, the love of one’s people, the love of a parent, and the love of a friend. Do make sure to remember it.” He smiles widely; you grumble to yourself about Ascian quizzes.
Deciding you may as well roll with it, you approach the dinner table and ask, “and what type of love are we, Ascian?” Your gaze slides over toward Emet-Selch.
Emet-Selch’s eyes glitter with some unidentifiable emotion. He smirks at you, lips pulling wide and drawls, “why philia of course. What other love would we be?”
Again with the strange, almost menacing flirting. He vacillates between angry, intrigued, and a deep-seated yearning so quickly it’s difficult to keep up with. Sometimes he looks at you as if you are someone else entirely. Sometimes he looks at you as if you are a speck of dirt beneath his fancy leather shoes. Now however he looks at you with…something.
Whatever. He brought free food (even if it is Eorzean).
You scoff, breaking yourself from your trance. “You assume much, Ascian,” you say lowly, resting your hands on your hips.
Emet-Selch arches one elegant eyebrow. “Oh? If we are not friends, then what are we? Surely we are not lovers, you and I.” You can see what goes unsaid in his eyes.
You elect to ignore it.
“We are not anything, Ascian. We are mere…acquaintances.” Emet scoffs, and opens his mouth, likely with some unsettlingly flirtatious and/or menacing comment, which you cut off curtly. “Although I do thank you for dinner. Will you be joining me?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
Emet-Selch grins. “Of course, my dear—I wouldn’t be a very good host if I didn’t, now would I?”