Archive of Our Own

There was very little in Ishgard that Jannequinard de Durendaire liked more than a ball. You would be hard-pressed to find an event he had not attended in recent memory, in fact. The Dragonsong War resurging had not kept him from them, nor had the brief but action-packed span of weeks where he had been under threat of assassination. The apocalypse had put a very unfortunate stop on the number of available attempts, that he had to admit, but that had only made reason for him to put in his very best showing.

The cynical had said, quite loudly, in corridors where he would be certain to overhear, that he attended only for the opportunity to woo the latest nubile young noblewoman to make her debut upon the Ishgardian stage. It was not an accusation he saw need to refute, fond as he was of the company of women, but there were other such reasons. Networking. The nobility lived and died by who they knew, and Jannequinard would not be found wanting.

Tonight, though, he had to admit he was there for the women. 

The ball had been called by Count Haillenarte, which was a daring proposition in and of itself. The House, while not in the dire straits it had once found itself in, was nevertheless hurting for reputation and gil both. The children of the Count, Jannequinard’s contemporaries, were notoriously unimpressed by the concept of balls, and none more so than the Count’s eldest.

There had been whispers, the product of rumours that Jannequinard would have gone so far as to call scurrilous, on Stephanivien de Haillenarte. Indeed, Jannequinard had heard any number of quite horrible words, all of which he had immediately discarded from his memory as unworthy of repetition, besides making a careful note of who had said them. 

Yes, Jannequinard never missed a ball. He especially did not miss an Ishgardian lady’s first outing. That said lady had attended other events before her realisation was not particularly important to him. 

It was not that Stephanivien disliked being the centre of attention. From Jannequinard’s admittedly limited interactions with her, she had simply never noticed when all eyes were on her. If she had, it had not bothered her. But tonight, at the eye of the storm that was a most Ishgardian display of support, she seemed most perturbed.

This, to Jannequinard, was unacceptable.

She did not notice his approach, much as she seemed to be willingly ignoring the passage of every pair of eyes in the room. He cleared his throat, then swept a deep bow at the slightest movement of her eyes.

“I must say, dear lady, it is not often that I see a woman distraught at an event held in her honour!” he remarked. Stephanivien’s fingers - washed clean of grime for the occasion, a fact that was clearly disconcerting to her - twitched at her side.

“Ah, Lord Jannequinard,” she said. There was a caution to her voice that would have been hurtful, if it were not for the hostile environment she found herself in. “I will confess I did not expect to see you here.” 

“You will sooner see me dead than absent from such an important social event,” Jannequinard replied. “Though I will say I would prefer not to be seen dead any time soon. One attempt on my life is enough for me, I think!” There was a note of curiosity in her face, but it soon became caution once more. She was very much out of her element. “Besides, it is only polite for one of my station to introduce himself to an eligible bachelorette-”

“Please. I do not need the words that you shower upon every woman you see,” she replied. 

“It wouldn’t do for you to be left out,” he replied, chipper as ever. “After all, you have gone for many years without having to fend off the advances of eager suitors, so you have a lot of catching up to do.” She grimaced.

“I believe I am beginning to understand Lanaiatte’s struggles more clearly,” she lamented. Jannequinard decided to change tactic.

“I found it most strange that your name did not feature on the announcement,” he said. “You have chosen one, yes? Is that how this works? I will confess I am unfamiliar with the intricacies.” 

“Joye suggested as much to me,” Stephanivien replied. “Though in truth I am still unsure about all of this. Not that I am doubting the truth of myself before Halone, but I do not know how .” This seemed to irritate her, if the way her brow creased was any indication. Jannequinard noted the green eyeshadow, always a feature of her face, and how she had attempted to make it more obvious. A valiant attempt, and certainly better than anything that he could have done.

“Well, that simply will not do. I will not call you by a name you have no use for!” he said. “Perhaps I can be of assistance, then.” Her eyes narrowed into what one could perhaps call suspicion, but Jannequinard decided to classify as healthy uncertainty. “I happen to have been exposed to a large number of feminine names in my time. They have written books on it, and I might even read them. I shall make for you a list.”

“A list?” Stephanivien repeated. “I suppose there’s a first time for one of those working.” It was almost a humorous remark, and Jannequinard could call that progress. He had convinced more stubborn women of his honest intent before.

“Then in three days, you must come and visit me at the Astrologicum,” Jannequinard said. “Even if it simply to tell me that you have chosen something. I will not be offended! I am very hard to offend.” Leveva called him ‘too dense to insult’, but that was not entirely true. “But it will not do for the moment, I fear. If you will permit me, for the time being, I shall call you Nivie.”

“Nivie,” she repeated, and for the first time that night, there was the very smallest hint of a smile. She was still very clearly somewhere she did not want to be, in company she did not want to keep, but it would do. “I suppose it will do.” Again her hands went to her side, and she frowned in annoyance. Perhaps she missed her Prospectometer? “I will admit I did not expect you to be so… vehemently supportive.”

“I will not have it said that Jannequinard de Durendaire let a woman down in her hour of need,” he said, though in fact more than one woman had said that of him before. He had tried to apologise, in his defence. “Three days! If your work proves too absorbing, fear not, I shall seek you out myself.” Nivie let out a weak laugh. It seemed genuine, unlike the situation she found herself in. “And, if you will forgive the impropriety, I think the green polish on your nails is very fetching,” he added.

“Fury preserve me,” she muttered. “As you wish! You will have your three days. It can’t possibly go so poorly as tonight.”

“I shall do my utmost not to disappoint,” he assured her.

The next few days found Jannequinard in an uncharacteristic flurry of activity.

He had dedicated himself to projects before, of course. When he had been studying with Rufin, all those years ago, he had found it most easy to focus on learning the craft of the astrologian. He was not particularly good at it, if he was being honest with himself, but it had been smooth once. Long years mired in Ishgardian politics had soured the taste somewhat, but those few basics he had learned still came to him at least.

This felt the same. He had made a decision and he was determined to commit to it, and so he had no less than five thick tomes on his desk, a pair of reading glasses balanced upon his nose as he squinted at the rows upon rows of birth notices, noting each and every name that had been bestowed upon the fair maidens of their nation. In another, he patiently peered his way through index pages, learning the meaning behind them. Of course, in his opinion every name was as beautiful as the woman it was given to - which was to say, all of them stunning - but only the very best would do to support his new friend on her journey.

Was she his friend? He hoped so.

“What in the heavens are you up to?” Leveva’s voice cut through his studying fugue. “Those books look thick enough to kill a cat. I never thought you one for tomes.” Jannequinard noted, but did not comment on, the subtle dig.

“I am doing important research,” he replied. Leveva raised an elegantly arched eyebrow.

“Research? For what?” she demanded. He sighed.

“I am trying to find a name for a friend,” he replied. “Only the very best will do.”

“Oh?” Leveva remarked, still with that dismissive lilt to her voice. “Has your philandering finally got the better of you?” Jannequinard pouted at that accusation.

“I cannot possibly imagine what you mean,” he said. “No, she is changing her name, you see. I don’t suppose you know much about the etymological roots of Ishgardian names? I must find one that speaks to everyone of her beauty.” Leveva rolled her eyes at that one.

“Not a thing,” she said. “If only you applied yourself this much to the study of astrology, you might be able to manage more than a simple Benefic. Our mutual friend charts the stars themselves towards the healing arts, you know.”

“I am sure they do, but they are not here to help me research names, so that is irrelevant,”  he said, waving one hand dismissively. “Besides, I have amassed a most excellent list so far without the aid of the stars.” Leveva moved to peer at the paper beneath his hand, but he hid it. “No peeking!” he chastised, and she shook her head in despair.

“And are they names a girl would like, or names you would like on a girl?” she asked. Jannequinard blinked.

“There is a difference?” he said, and Leveva let out an audible noise of despair.

“ Yes , Janne. Why do you think so many take up a nickname when they get older?” She put her hands on her hips, staring at the books. “Old names will not do, she will seem like an elderly crone among her peers. Of course, you can never go wrong with a good saint or two, but it must be a most likeable one. And nobody who martyred themselves on dragons or anything like that. It sends the wrong impression.”

“Most of our saints did that,” Jannequinard pointed out. “I suppose there is Saint Reinette, but she retired to become a nun, which is almost worse.”

“Only you would say that,” Leveva said. “Look, just promise me you will have another woman check your work. You do maintain friends with women when you get bored of them, yes?”

“I have a great many female friends,” Jannequinard replied. “True, many of them are only my friend because of my political connections and think I haven’t noticed, but they are still my friends! Or at least acquaintances. But I do not think I would trust them with something so… delicate.” He shook his head. “Well, if she laughs me from the room, at least it will be a cause of cheer for her. It seems to be something she is quite lacking in, of late.”

It was late in the afternoon of the third day when she arrived, so late that Jannequinard was considering taking his curated list to the Manufactory to remind her. She was far more at ease back in her usual outfits - a shirt, ill-fitting and poorly suited for the cold, and a pair of oil-covered trousers. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, but it was clearly for practical reasons from the grease smears around her hairline. Jannequinard had not, it had to be said, paid all that much attention to Stephanivien before the ball. The Count’s eldest had very quickly made it clear, upon coming of age, that he had no interest in inheriting the position, and would much rather spend his time tinkering with machinery, and Jannequinard had considered their two lives to be so different as to be practically different countries. Not to mention that his father had been very stern about associating with the Haillenartes, and the effect it might have on the Durendaire reputation, already in shambles from Carvallain’s unfortunate demise. 

How strange life was.

“I will confess I had almost forgotten,” she remarked, tossing a stray strand of hair from her face. “We have a very promising modification- ah, but you do not want to hear me prattle on. In short, my prospectometer was giving unusually high readings, and so I remembered!” There was a moment of awkwardness from her then, before she continued, “and I hope you do not think too poorly of me for my attitude at the ball.” 

“Not at all. Such events are not everyone’s cup of tea,” Jannequinard responded. “Of course, I am quite at home there, but even before current events I had noted your conspicuous absence at the most of them.” He smiled then, resisting the urge to simply wave his over-researched list in her face in excitement. It would be most unbecoming. “But it is good to see you nonetheless, Nivie. The lady Leveva has informed me that my… nomenclatural sensibilities might not match with those of your average Ishgardian lady, but since you are far more than your average lady, I hope it will not be too horrible. Here.” There was a flicker on her face as he spoke, a change to her smile, perhaps, but he could not pinpoint why. 

She read through the list with the ease of a woman used to handwriting far worse, and information far more concise. Jannequinard, studious as he was (no matter what Leveva said about him), had included the meaning of each name, and how many people he had known with it. There were many Ishgardian ladies, of course, even with the best efforts of the Dravanian Horde before that little problem had been resolved, and so he had also included a few names which he did not recommend, either for their popularity among their generation or for a particularly dislikable person who shared it.

“It feels quite permanent,” she remarked, once she was done reading. “Though I am certain in my course, doing something like this… It feels like a final step.” She folded the note up with far less caution than it was due, but more than he expected, and put it in one of her multitudinous pockets. “I shall think on it. I appreciate the effort you have made on my behalf.” She smiled again, a far more comfortable expression on her face than the discomfort of the ball. “I am glad that you were not simply using this as an excuse to mock me, though my prospectometer is rarely wrong.”

“Would that I could say the same for my astral readings,” Jannequinard lamented. “Of course, such a momentous decision must be made with the utmost care. Shall I continue with our temporary arrangement in the meantime?” There was a brief look of confusion on her face.

“Yes, if we have the occasion to speak,” she said, to which Jannequinard nodded excitedly.

“Yes, I think we shall,” he said. “You see - and forgive me if this is indelicate - it has not escaped my notice that your manner of dress is… Unorthodox for the ladies of Ishgard. Indeed, I have seen many of the fine ladies who work in your Manufactory, and I am afraid this simply will not do.”

“This?” she repeated. “I will confess I do not give much thought to what I wear.” There was a guarded note to her voice that Jannequinard did not fail to note.

“Now, of course, a typical lady’s dress will not suit you or your work,” he continued, undaunted. “So I had thought that perhaps we might consult with your co-workers, and take a trip to the Jeweled Crozier.” He nodded, as if in agreement with himself. “I think we can both agree that it would be frankly terrible for you to be forced into your getup at the ball once more, so we shall come readily armed with a compromise for your Lord father.” This, more than anything else, did seem to convince her. At least somewhat.

“I had never doubted my decision more than when father bought for me that dress,” she confessed. “But I suppose it is not surprising. Lanaiatte has never been one for frills and frocks. Perhaps my father was hoping I would be different.” She chuckled at that. “I’m not sure why, given my history.”

“Parents are ever hopeful for the hopeless,” Jannequinard replied, recalling his father’s tired pleas for him to stop ‘chasing every skirt in the city’ and settle down. Jannequinard had never been one for settling. He did not much like sitting still. “Fortunately, I know both sides of my audience. I shall- is there ever a day where you are free from work?” She considered the question with a frown on her face.

“I usually find work if there is none in the moment,” she confessed. “We are quite close to being finished with our latest project, however. Call upon us at the end of the week and I shall find a few spare seconds.” It was as good as approval for Jannequinard.

“Wonderful!” he declared. “I shall see you then. And I shall ask the stars if they might bless your various mechanical endeavours.”

“Do they do that?” she asked. Jannequinard sighed.

“Generally no,” he admitted. “At least, not when I ask. But never say never.”

It was better than nothing, he reasoned.

Jannequinard took it upon himself to make himself a nuisance at the Manufactory.

There were many lovely young ladies at the Manufactory, but despite this Jannequinard had generally attempted to avoid the place. There was that striking young spitfire, Hilda, who he was quite certain would shoot him on sight if he tried anything. Not fatally, of course, but perhaps far more painfully than he would like. She was in charge of a group of armed commonfolk now, who performed something akin to guard duties for the folks of the Brume. A very noble endeavour, but not one he had any intention of being involved in.

Then there was her friend, the second in command at the Manufactory. Her name was Joye, but despite this she had made it explicitly clear which orifices Jannequinard would find a turret jammed up if he attempted to court her. He could not fault the lady for her tenacity and certainty, and had respected her wishes. Besides, his ideal number of encountered automechanical turrets was a resounding zero.

There were many others, but they were the two of note, because they were the ones who knew Nivie well enough to consult. Of the two of them, there was one that he actually dared approach. And so, when Nivie was busy, Jannequinard snuck in, shuffling around the shells of half-finished projects and delicately lifting his robe above the oil, and attempted to interrogate his target.

He was, alas, chased out of the Manufactory immediately on his first attempt. On his second, he managed to convince her that he was not there to seduce her with his wicked wiles - to be honest, Jannequinard was reasonably certain that she was only interested in the wiles of the fairer sex, and his would have precisely no effect upon her, but he was not quite stupid enough to bring it up in her presence - but had to make a hasty retreat lest he be spotted by the woman of the hour.  

The third time, Joye rounded up half of the Manufactory’s female workforce, and put together a highly detailed guide on dressing in a practical manner. Most of them, of course, were content to wear shirts and trousers even outside of work, but that would not satisfy the Count. And Nivie was unlikely to remember to wear anything other than her work uniform, so they found a compromise.

Joye was not, despite being in the pay of a Count’s son, rich enough to shop at the Jewelled Crozier, but she did know a startling amount about dressing prettily. Jannequinard was presented with diagrams that were clearly drawn by people more used to mechanical schematics, outlining what worked and what did not within a work environment. There was a startling amount that went into a woman’s dress, he learned - though he had always known that there was a most specific effort employed by young ladies to appear effortlessly beautiful, it was quite humbling to see the extent in minute detail.

Still, Jannequinard considered himself armed. Joye had also threatened to deprive him of his manhood if he used any of the provided information maliciously, so he also considered himself warned. Certainly he did not mean to do so intentionally, but he would have to be very careful not to do so by accident. Leveva often told him that he was a klutz with the feelings of others, especially the women he attempted to befriend, so he would need to exercise extra caution.

When the end of the week came, Jannequinard had put together a plan. He had also given stern words to no less than three visitors to the Athenaeum on the subject of being respectful towards Nivie and her journey through the perilous fields of her life, which was a disappointingly high number. Still, Halone fought the fiercest battles in her palace of ice, so it stood to reason that Her faithful would weather similar struggles. It was Jannequinard’s intention to be the hoplon that stood between Halone and her opponent’s weapons. The women at the Manufactory certainly had the spear covered, after all.

It was much easier to navigate the place when he was not trying to sneak around, it turned out. He still lifted the hems of his robe carefully, but he could be a little louder, as he was more used to.

“Hello, my good fellow. I don’t suppose the Chief is in?” he asked the man on the door, who was regarding the very obvious bookish garb Jannequinard wore with a dubious look. 

“I’ll fetch her,” he said, and there was a pointed certainty to the ‘her’ which Jannequinard appreciated. Not that he had doubted that she hired good people, of course, the trouncing they had given to House Dzemael a scant few moons ago proved as much. But it was reassuring, nonetheless.

“Ah, Lord Jannequinard! I am impressed that you remembered!” 

Her voice, of course, was unmistakable, and she all but clambered through the door, a wrench still held in one hand. Jannequinard noted the oil smeared on her trousers, just like Joye had pointed out. Dark colours. Easily washed, for Nivie did spare a thought for the staff employed at the manor, unlike some of House Dzemael’s more objectionable scions.

“My lady,” he greeted, sweeping a deep bow. She was grimacing as he straightened, but there was an amused tilt to it.

“Please. Would you do that to my sister?” she said, then frowned. “Don’t answer that, actually. You have come at a most perfect time, as work has just concluded on my latest project!” With a flourish, she produced a miniature turret, complete with a fan upon the top. “Previous iterations were completely stationary, but I have made adjustments to the fan mechanism and streamlined the firing apparatus to allow room for retractable side fans, making the entire device manoeuvrable with no more input than a simple press of a button.”

“Fascinating,” Jannequinard replied. “I fear the specifics will be lost upon me, unless you are particularly good at star analogies, but I can understand the theoretical applications.” His mind went unbidden to memories of knights pushing heavy cannons through the snow, to better position them against the far more mobile horde. These days the knights did not face much in the way of dragons, beyond a few half-mad broodlings and the more fervent remnants of the heretical sects, so perhaps this was an adaptation to the changing times. Certainly they were doing it far faster than the astrologians were. 

“That is the most positive response I have had from someone outside the Manufactory,” she confessed. “But at least I have persuaded my lord father that I know what I’m doing. It’s damnably difficult, at times.”

“Stubbornness can be a virtue,” Jannequinard said. His father had remarked once that he needed to find better things to be stubborn about than women and social events, but he considered that a compliment. “Have you the time for a little outing, then? I will confess I do not know the protocol for these sorts of projects.”

“Oh, yes, a little time,” she said, nodding her head absently. “I think it will be the most attention I have paid to outfitting in perhaps my entire life, however.”

“My father once said that a good outfit will make you feel like a better person for it,” Jannequinard replied. “Perhaps it is simply that you have never found something which speaks to your true self.” He brightened at that. “Luckily for us, I do not need to consult the stars to know that we will encounter good fortune in this endeavour, for I have come prepared. Despite the lady Leveva’s opinion that I am incapable of such forward thinking, at that.”

“Well, we shall see,” Nivie said. Jannequinard could hardly blame her for her hesitance, in the circumstances.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me, my lady, I shall prove it to you.”

Jannequinard had always liked visits to the Jewelled Crozier. Indeed, earlier in his life he had so indulged the ladies he would visit with that his father had imposed strict limits on his retainer, and made certain that every shopkeep in the district knew it. House Haillenarte were still in quite unfortunate financial straits compared to House Durendaire, this Jannequinard knew, but they were not so poorly off that he would need to worry if their trip exceeded his personal budget.

“There are two things that one must consider when putting together a proper outfit,” Jannequinard began, as the two of them regarded the streets before them. “Practicality, and looks.”

“I am more used to the first, I’ll admit,” Nivie responded, a dubious look on her face.

“So the shirt that has so often been the talk of all Ishgard’s high-class taverns was an accident?” Jannequinard said, surprise colouring his voice. Even when she had presented as male, it had been a quite scandalous amount of chest to display, and she had persisted in wearing the outfit even when the bitter chill had set in. Indeed, she wore a similar getup now, though there had been a passing attempt to shape the garment that had clearly been given up on before it had had chance to begin.

“I don’t follow,” she said, and Jannequinard sighed.

“Quite. Still, I have considered the taxing requirements of your profession, and I believe that our most useful way forward is a two-step ensemble,” he continued. “We shall find you something which compliments your form for the undershirt, and then we shall pay a visit to one of the Crozier’s finest leatherworkers for the finishing touches.”

“Leatherwork? I am not so certain my father will approve,” she replied, a frown on her face. “At least, not in a formal setting. I have at last convinced her to leave the general running of the Manufactory in my hands, at least.”

“Ah, but that is the beauty of the outfit,” Jannequinard said. “When the workday is over, the workpiece can be removed, and then we can procure for you a most fashionable jacket, or somesuch, to disguise that you are simply wearing a comfortable blouse beneath.” Nivie nodded, though her eyes had glazed over somewhat. “Trust me. Come! We shall brave the stalls together,” Jannequinard declared.

He struck a path for them through the throng of shoppers, many of whom stopped to whisper about the presence of two of Ishgard’s most well-bred nobility, and together no less. It was a tragedy of the highest order that even having friends was the subject of gossip, but such were the perils of the noble lifestyle.

They went first to the tailor, a woman that Jannequinard had visited many times for his own wardrobe. She listened with her face a thoughtful mask as Jannequinard outlined their reason for visiting, her eyes on Nivie’s existing outfit rather than either of their faces. She nodded as he finished.

“Yes, yes… I can work with this,” she agreed. “A nice fitted blouse, something with the cuffs… Step inside for a moment, my lady, and we will take some measurements.” Nivie grimaced, but nodded nonetheless.

It was like that for much of their journey - an explanation, an assessment, a measurement, and a promise of delivery. The tailor that Joye had personally recommended had a series of pleasing yet practical skirts, made of tough material and adorned with pockets for the woman at work. The leatherworker had overalls made of sustainably sourced yak leather - they had made a hasty change from archaeornis and wyvern leather after the end of the war, she confessed - that were vouched for by the Warrior of Light themselves, or so she said. When Nivie tried on the skirt, she had emerged from the fitting room with a smile poorly concealed on her face, which Jannequinard attributed to the outfit being a far more natural look on her than the stuffy ensemble she had worn at the ball. Not that the Count’s efforts were for nothing, but he had certainly missed the mark a little.

“I cannot say I am overly fond of wasting half a day on this sort of activity, but I will grant that it has yielded better results than I hoped,” she remarked, as the two of them walked from the clothing quarter of the Crozier. 

“The benefits of research,” Jannequinard agreed. “And it will serve as a means to avoid this in future, as you can simply request more of the same when next you visit.” Nivie nodded. Clearly that was how she had already been making her way through life. Jannequinard could hardly fault her for that - a brilliant mind needed as few distractions as possible to do their best work, after all. Most of the times he said that he was immediately told that he was not one such mind, but the principle stood regardless. “Ah, but we are not quite done. There is, of course, far more to an outfit than the clothes one wears.”

“Oh, I do not need any more tools,” she dismissed. “I have been very careful about the ones I use. The day this wrench finally breaks I will mourn for a week.” Jannequinard made a surprised noise as she actually produced the wrench in question, but decided not to question it too deeply.

“No, no, not tools,” he disagreed. “I have been thinking most carefully about this, and I believe that we can accent your outfit with a little jewellery.”

“Such things are dangerous in the Manufactory,” she said, and Jannequinard shook his head quickly.

“Nothing dangerous, I assure you,” he promised, hands up as if to prove his integrity. It had never worked for him before, but there was always a first time. “In fact, I quite carefully perused the user safety manual, and it is quite clear that simple ear clasps are allowed under uniform rules.”

“You read the safety manual?” Nivie repeated, blinking in surprise. 

“Of course! How could I effectively put together an outfit if I was not certain it would conform to the standards of your workplace?” Jannequinard replied. In fact, Leveva had checked to see if he was hiding a ‘raunchy trade romance’ behind the manual’s thick pages, but luckily for his attention span the section on work uniform had been quite short. The text had been crustier than the ancient Ishgardian astrology manuals, so it had still taken him hours to get through, but he had done it.

“That’s more effort than many of the machinists put in,” Nivie confessed. “Still, I suppose I have no argument, though I have never been one for jewellery.”

“Trust me,” Jannequinard said, and hoped that he could back it up.

There were a great many jewellers in the Jewelled Crozier - perhaps unsurprisingly, considering the name. Many of them were up-market even by the standards of the district, catering exclusively to those members of the nobility who flaunted wealth for the sake of it, but a few of them married aesthetics with practicality in the understated way that Jannequinard had been certain would complement the new outfit the two of them were constructing.

There were two things that he had noticed, over the course of his research. The first was that she favoured green shades for her eyeshadow, something she had done even before her transition. The second was that most of her accessories favoured the practical over anything else. While a ribbon in her hair would have looked lovely, it would only have been wearable outside of her place of work, and she would likely have left it forgotten in a pocket regardless. Ear clasps were an elezen art that stretched back through the centuries, the designs elegant and careful, and painstakingly designed to compliment the tapered ear of their people. Many of them could also be put on and mostly forgotten about, and that would be ideal for Jannequinard’s current audience.

And so, though it pained him greatly to walk past elegant pieces that he knew would compliment her greatly, he soldiered gamely on and presented her with an earclasp worked in fine black metal, set with a single emerald.

“You cannot try it on, precisely, but I think it would suit you most finely,” he said. Nivie picked it up, holding it up and regarding it with more interest than she had first shown at the idea of jewellery, which was progress.

“It would match my jacket,” she allowed. “They are supposed to match, yes?” Jannequinard nodded. Though she was quite clearly leagues beyond most of Ishgard in matters mechanical, she had quite clearly struggled with social expectations during their trip. Jannequinard considered it only right to use his years of experience in the field to assist. After all, contrary to the tongue-waggings he received so often from friends and family, he was quite popular with the ladies when he put his mind to it, which was often.

“It will accent it, yes,” he agreed. “And help to draw eyes towards your most beautiful face.” He paused, considering the statement. “Which is something you do aim for, on a social level, though I can imagine it will not be helpful when attempting to showcase your inventions. Think of it as helping your sales pitch.” 

“I suppose it might help to convince some particularly stubborn clients,” she allowed, holding the clasp up to her ear and looking into the mirror opposite her. “...It is strange, I will admit, to be so absorbed in such things. All my life I had found it a tiresome chore at best. But I can look into the mirror and feel…” She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. “Do forgive my prattling on. We both of us are quite busy people, and I have taken altogether too much of your time already.”

“Not at all. It is freely offered,” Jannequinard disagreed. “And it does seem quite fetching, I think. If it interests you, you can consider it my treat.”

“I don’t imagine the politicians in either of our families will appreciate such a gesture,” she replied. Jannequniard waved a hand in dismissal.

“It has been made abundantly clear to me many times that the only way I will see inheritance of my house is if a comet strikes and wipes out every other eligible member, and I do not imagine what the disgraceful Durendaire wastrel and the eldest Haillenarte who abdicated on principle do with their time will be of much use to anyone.” He folded his arms. “Besides, Count Charlemend has been doing many charitable activities in the community of late. Possessed by the spirit of being a decent person, or so the rumours say. Befriending those houses with which we have historically clashed is in his interests.” Nivie considered that, the boxed ear clasp still held in one hand.

“A compromise, then,” she decided. “I will accept the gift, but you will let me gift you something in return. Then there will be no accusations of my house accepting charity.” She sighed. “In an ideal world, I would not bother myself with such concerns, but I have already caused my father all manner of problems. I should at least attempt not to cause him more.”

“A more worthy endeavour than I would embark upon,” Jannequinard said. “Very well. I shall accept this compromise.” Nivie's eyes lingered upon the clasp.

“It has always felt like so much,” she confessed. “To take this step.” Jannequinard shook his head.

“That is because it is not one step,” he responded. “Why, it is countless little things, to become someone. You would not think to take your turrets straight from conception to realisation in one day of work, would you?” He paused. “I hope not, else my analogy falls quite flat, but the stars offer little in the way of aid for our more worldly struggles, I fear.” Nivie did laugh at that, and the smile was easy on her face.

“No, no, you are quite right. Though the machinists that serve Ishgard now are a grand unit, it took us no small number of battles to achieve it. No small number of naysayers to convince.” 

“Fewer this time, I would hope,” Jannequinard said. “Not least of all yourself.” She nodded, and there was a fire in her eyes that told Jannequinard how she had earned the epithet of Brightsun during the Dragonsong War.

“I have never doubted myself in anything else. I shall not do myself the disservice of doubting further in this,” she agreed. “And now I owe you twice over, I fear.” Jannequinard shook his head in swift disagreement, so quickly that he had to hastily reseat his monocle.

“That given freely is returned in kind!” he disagreed. “And your presence is a joy enough to behold. Shall we let you get back to work?”

It was a strange feeling, Jannequinard thought. He had had few friends throughout his life, in truth. Rufin, Fury rest his soul, had been the last true friend he had ever had. He had found an excitement in the schools of New Sharlayan, had mourned the loss of the environment when he had returned home. The astrology had been an excuse, if he was being honest with himself. It had been an excuse to gain permission to leave for the colony in the first place, and it had been an excuse to spend more time with his friend. It had been an excuse that let him mingle with the Sharlayan people, learn their ways, and ruminate upon the differences to how Ishgard did things.

It was strange, now, to see Ishgard limping towards a more progressive place. Their twin houses, of commonfolk and nobility alike, had something in common with what the Forum had once been. But as Rufin had said to him often, it had become just as corrupt as any government, over time. Rufin’s death had proved it.

He had tried to find a similar connection, when he had returned to Ishgard. He had thrown himself into learning the ways the political field had changed in his absence, that he could better navigate it. He had cultivated the presence of the nobody, the unimportant, the disappointment. He had wanted to find Rufin’s killer, and been unable. He had barely aided Leveva, when she had first arrived. What interested him now? Precious little.

But what had started as an idle thought, an upset at seeing a lady so sad, had gripped him now. He had learned a great deal for the sake of seeing her smile. 

He had not, politically speaking, picked an easy person to befriend. But, by the Fury, he would make it work.

The next sennight found itself a busy one for Jannequinard. He was hosting a symposium on Sharlayan astromancy - Leveva was presenting, of course, but to organise the venue and the guest list was entirely his purview - and also hosting frequent visits from Nivie. She had taken her threat to reciprocate his gift in kind quite seriously, as it turned out - and unlike he himself, had no interest in skulking around to gather information. One positive of this, quite apart from her presence being uplifting, was being able to watch as the various clothing items they had ordered were delivered, and she began to wear them more frequently. She had clearly put just a little more effort into her dress each time, and the smile she wore seemed to grow in size each day. A part of Jannequinard wished that he had paid enough attention to learn more of the Hingan arts of geomancy, that he might extend the time in which she felt so joyful, but the thought of spending more time around any who might teach him such things quickly soured the idea. 

After all, was there anything better to strive for than the happiness of a friend?

Jannequinard worried, though, that he was proving to be a difficult person to gift, with how often she seemed to visit. He had learned of her projects in the Manufactory from her excited chatter at each visit, and though he understood very little of the details of it, it was clear that she thrived in the atmosphere, even moreso for being accepted by her family - both as a machinist, and as a woman. It was good, in Jannequinard’s estimation, that the former had been the harder of the fights she had faced. He wondered what his own father might have said, if he had presented such a revelation to him, especially before the sweeping political changes that Ishgard was weathering. The force of whispers was more powerful a motive than their own opinion, for some of the nobility. Jannequinard reasoned that he was already so notorious that one more thing upon the pile would probably not have caused all that much upset.

“I am used to you taking your dates outside  of the Athenaeum, you know,” Leveva remarked, her eyes on the door through which Nivie had just departed. 

“Beg pardon?” Jannequinard responded. Leveva rolled her eyes.

“Your dates. You are with the Lady Haillenarte, yes?” she clarified. 

“The implication that I would compromise my friendship with Nivie for my philanderous ways is quite insulting, Leveva,” he said, gathering up the books on the counter and getting to his feet.

“Does she know that?” Leveva asked, an amused quirk to the edge of her lips. Jannequinard sighed.

“Leveva, please. She is the eldest child of a High House. Doubtless she has suitors lining the road to ask for her hand,” he replied.

“And does she answer those roads of suitors?” Leveva countered, and he bristled.

“Leveva, no less than five separate people will have my head if I so much as consider harming the Lady Haillenarte,” he said. “I am not about to-”

“Nobody said you would hurt her,” Leveva cut in. “Is that truly all you think of yourself? A useless wastrel to love and to leave the ladies of the realm? I know people have said it of you - perhaps I have said it in jest myself, in fact, but it is not true , Janne.”

“I do not need you to analyse my friendships, thank you,” he said, straightening. “Unless the stars have directed you to, as they have never made themselves clear to me, but I assure you we are quite happy as we are.” Leveva shook her head at that, but Jannequinard turned on his heel and left to organise his stack of tomes before she could reply.

How swiftly the tedium set in once more.

Jannequinard sat at his desk, tapping his foot in a vain attempt at focus. There were too many thoughts in his head for him to sift through them, to settle upon one of them. Or at least, to settle upon a useful one.

His mind circled back to the conversation. If Leveva had thought such things of him, how many others would? She knew him quite well, admittedly, better than most, but eyes would glance and words would find the wrong ears. Even if he did not intend to hurt her, surrounded as she was by so many difficult things, if his very proximity could damage her already fragile reputation…

He could not let it stand. Even without the threats levelled at him, he could not bear the thought of being the reason she struggled.

He got to his feet. The clock warned him of the lateness of the hour, but it was not so dark as for her to have retired home just yet. He would find her at the Manufactory, he would clarify things, and that would be that.

She had enough support not to need him, after all.

There was always a crowd of workers at the Manufactory, even when the sun had long since set, so important was their work. By the time Jannequinard had made his way across the Pillars, the clouds on the horizon had turned the brilliant orange of sunset, and a light snow had set in, as it was so often wont to do. He pressed on regardless.

“Lord Jannequinard! What an unexpected surprise to see you here,” said the man on the door. There was an uneasy look on his face, a furtive glance or two towards the back rooms accompanying Jannequinard’s entrance. “I am afraid that the Lady Haillenarte is currently engaged in a most important project, but if you would like, I can inform her that you called.” Jannequinard huffed at that. He was used to being turned away at the door, of course, but today it was important.

“I shall wait, if needs must,” he offered, which made the man grimace.

“I suppose if you are certain, we could perhaps find a space for you to wait, but there is not really-”

“Jannequinard! What fantastic timing!”

Nivie swept from the depths of the Manufactory, for once not covered in oil grease up to her elbows. Someone had braided her hair today - Joye, perhaps, since she so often wore her hair in a like manner. It was quite fetching on her, he thought, from a purely objective perspective. Yes, she was in her element here, wasn’t she? Surrounded by people who supported her and understood the depths of her interests. Any one of them could easily have helped her through the stumbles she had faced, few as they were. Maybe they had, just as he had tried. Certainly he hoped so. 

“I had hoped that we might talk,” he began, but she had that look on her face that Jannequinard had become familiar with. An interest had gripped her, and she would not be dissuaded from it until she had examined it to her satisfaction.

“I have completed your gift,” she said, and with a flourish she produced a star globe from her side. The stance was so wrong that even Jannequinard could see it, but it still floated just above her palm as it should, buoyed by the magics that connected astrologian to the stars which powered them. The globe was formed of a delicate filigree, metal carefully and painstakingly worked into the perfect shape. It was an instrument worthy of a master astrologian, and certainly not something that a rank amateur like Jannequinard had any business in even beholding, let alone touching, and yet she held it out to him regardless. “I will confess it was difficult to get the specifications for a sharlayan astrolabe,” she confessed. “Too often was I regaled with tales of how the magic worked, when what I needed was the physical, but I persevered!” Jannequinard watched, entranced, as the stellar energies turned the arms of the astrolabe.

“Does she know that?” Leveva had asked.

“Do you like it?” Nivie asked, a smile plastered across her face.

“If I may be frank, I think this is worth far more than my gift to you,” he managed, once he had remembered how to form words.

“I cannot say I had any interest in having it valued, but if the heads of our respective houses will look askance, then perhaps you can match my fervour in kind,” she said, and to his credit, Jannequinard did see the bait in her words. “But you did not come here on intuition, I think. What can Skysteel Manufactory help you with this evening?” she added, and Jannequinard felt the words tangle in his throat. 

“I had intended to discuss… the nature of our relationship,” he began, choosing his words as carefully as he could. “I have been informed that some may see our acquaintance as romantic, and I had no desire to tar your reputation-”

“Please, Janne. I have already told you once that I do not want the words you ply each of Ishgard’s ladies with,” Nivie said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Besides, I have never had much of a reputation myself, and cared less for it. Perhaps I could persuade you to be one of those who sees our acquaintance so?” Carefully, Jannequinard folded the globe in his hands closed, putting it down on the nearest table that was not covered in machinery or oil. 

“I will confess I am not used to being on this side of the proposition,” he said, to which she made an amused noise.

“And what answer would you hope for, if you were asking?” she replied. “Or would you prefer to consult the stars?”

“The stars have never told me much of use,” Jannequinard dismissed. “Though if you have consulted your Prospectometer, I would put more stock on that.”

“It is rarely wrong,” Nivie agreed. “Though in truth, that is only because I follow my heart.”

“Well, my reputation, scurrilous as it is, would suffer were I to turn down a beautiful woman, so I fear I must accept,” Jannequinard said. “It would be my honour, my Lady Haillenarte.”

“I have settled upon Elodie,” she said. “For all my misgivings, your list was a great help. I needed only to take it step by step.”

“Well then, Lady Elodie,” Jannequinard said, holding out a hand. “Shall we take another?” She smiled, and it was truly radiant.

“It would be my pleasure.”