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Valre hadn’t brought a lot with him when he’d fled from Dalmasca. He’d left behind his clothes, his dishes. Materials. Pictures. Most everything save some jewelry and his weaponry. It would have been too much of a weight on his shoulders if he’d attempted to bring everything with, just a reminder of all he had lost.
Being in Kugane again is bringing back those heavy feelings. The silks in the market stalls, the more foreign clothes from shipwrights who are attempting to cart their wares from Radz-at-Han, a place he’s never been but apparently one that is kind of similar to his homeland.
Well, not his homeland, but close enough.
When he retreats back to his room, he pulls out a dancer outfit that he’d found in Ul’Dah some years ago that had reminded him of the old days. Fabrics dyed in bright colors with sashes and dangling things that look more Dalmascan than Thanalan. Ul’dah-in? He’s not really sure. Common was difficult enough to learn without worrying about specifics like that.
He attempts to fit it on, but it hangs loosely from his shoulders and the strings of metal get tangled in due to being at awkward angles. The pants are horribly loose and the belts he has don’t really fit with the outfit.
He’d complained about being overweight once, and his wife had merely hugged him, nibbling his shoulder, and said that after so many kids, it’s only natural they’d change physically.
Well, he’s changed physically again. Skin and bones, he’s exhausted walking anywhere and needs to rest after half an hour. That’s new. But even though he’s able to force down Fjore’s cooking, he’s not really able to eat much else.
He grips the fabric in his hands, not quite wanting to pull, but wishing it could be different. That his clothes could fit, that it was Mjrna who could look at him and compliment him, that it was one of his other kids who he would happen to run into… and not a son he’d never even known, a son who rejects the idea of being blood related so entirely that he doesn’t know if he wants to see him again.
He couldn’t handle that heartbreak again.
He attempts to retrace his steps into one of the dances he and Mjrna would perform in Rabanastre, but he stumbles over his foot just as a knock sounds on the door. He manages to catch himself before he clears his throat and heads over.
It’s Fjore, for some reason, and she stares at him and his strange ill-fitting garb for a few moments before she averts her eyes. “Uh… I was just seeing if you needed anything from the city…”
He clears his throat again and takes a few hesitant steps back. “Uh… no. Nothing I can think of.”
She glances back to him again and more of a frown appears on her face. “Val… you look sick. You gotta be lighter than me now.”
He grits his teeth and crosses an arm over his chest as he grips the fabric with his other hand. “It’s fine. I’m just not hungry.”
“Probably because you forgot what it feels like.”
He grimaces and looks away.
She sighs, but leaves the doorway, and he closes it silently behind her, pressing his hand into the wood.
Even their initial meeting would be forever tainted by what had come after. The suffering, the misery, the torture. If only he could go back to the mindless jobs, the low-risk assignments.
They’d… been tasked to take down diremites, was it? And then she’d caused that landslide a week later.
Then he’d met Gloria, and his life had fallen apart.
The steps aren’t the same as they usually are; even on the ship to Kugane he’d had more energy for the same beat. His foot drags on the floor, it’s difficult to raise his arms and spin, it’s even difficult to keep moving.
He remembers the dance, though. Remembers how he and Mjrna would practice for hours to get some coin in the evening so that they’d be able to feed their son.
Their now-dead son. Though, all of them are dead.
He trips over his foot again, unable to raise it as he should, and he crashes down onto his side and lays still.
The outfit doesn’t fit as it should. His ribs hurt from the fall, and his pants slide down slightly, his hips jutting out unnaturally. He grips his hand into a fist and slowly pushes himself up from the floor.
What does it matter if he’s sick and unhealthy? Mjrna is dead. His children are dead and they’re not coming back. Gloria is still out there somewhere searching for them, and now suddenly there’s a son who was supposed to be in the Wood who doesn’t even want to accept they’re related.
It’s too much. Even without Caturix possessing his body and mind, it’s too much.
He doesn’t want to cry, and forces the tears away as he drags himself to his bed and throws off the dancer top. It jingles as it hits the blanket and then lays still.
He nearly falls onto the bed with exhaustion. He should eat something, needs to in order to stay alive, but the thought of throwing up again makes him hesitate.
He wakes up suddenly a few hours later to a knocking on the door again, and he stumbles over to the door, yanking it open with the forcefulness that comes from being unbalanced, and Fjore takes a startled step back. “Oh. Oops. Uh, did something happen in town?”
“Uh, no… were you asleep? Sorry.”
“It’s no problem. Slept enough on the ship anyway…” He gestures for her to come inside, and she does, though admittedly slowly, and sets a tray of food on the table. “Find anything good?”
“Just some teas for that teapot you bought…”
Right, he’d given that to her. He glances over to the tray. Some sort of broth he doesn’t recognize with some fish. It does admittedly smell good. She must notice him sniffing the air because she awkwardly shifts away from the table. “It’s for you, so… you can have some.”
“… Sure. If you’re not going to eat it.”
“Nah. I already ate.” Her voice is quiet and also hesitant, so he stays fairly far away from her as he slides onto one of the benches.
He’s not sure what the broth is, and it’s not particularly filling, but it’s salty and a bit easier to force down. The fish is also scarily easy to eat considering he barely eats anything, but it doesn’t take a lot of chewing, and the higher quality is obvious even to him.
“Wow… you actually ate.”
He swallows, finishing off the fish. “Yeah… I’m not used to eating fish so maybe that’s why.”
“Well. If it works, it works. Don’t think I can keep buying it though, I’m not exactly made of coin.”
Apparently his son liked fishing. Likes. He stares forward as his stomach turns slightly, but he doesn’t feel nauseous. Not yet. “It’s fine. Don’t need to spend a lot on… this.”
“Val, you’ve barely eaten anything. Seriously.” She grabs his arm and easily fits her hand around his wrist. “I can see your ribs. Your collarbone.”
“It’s not that bad. I’ve seen worse.”
“Well yeah, but do you really want to get worse?”
He swallows and stares at the empty bowl.
“Is that the first thing you ate today?”
He doesn’t answer aloud, but slowly nods his head.
“Val…”
“What’s it really matter to you? We’re going to part ways and I’m going to find Gloria and kill her. I’m going to stay possessed by this demon and…” His voice dies off. “And I don’t know. I’ll be lucky if I live anyway.”
Her hands form into fists and she stares at the empty tray. “Just because your family is gone doesn’t mean there’s not people here who want you to live.”
He also stares at the tray and rubs at the scar on his neck. “I know… I know. But if my life means others are killed, I can’t- I can’t live with that.”
She doesn’t respond to that, and when he glances to her face, she looks too angry to say anything, so she merely turns on her heel and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
He sighs and stares at the table in front of him.
This is going to be a long stay in Kugane.