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“Motherfucker. Stay up there!” It fell again. Johnny’s tail lashed and he squat back down to pick up the heavy fabric. The Light blaring through the large, ornate windows taunted him. Unbelievably it was ten at night, and he was exhausted and the mess of his bedsheets was testament to that. Yet no matter how still he laid, how many sheep he’d count, sleep wouldn’t take him. He’d tried medicines. He’d tried Alphinaud’s advice of warm milk and ‘studying’. No dice.
So, here he was, trying to cover the windows. Because Light could still escape through the damn shutters.
It was like water, it was like grains of sand, it got everywhere and Johnny was on the verge of pulling his hair out. When the fabric came loose and fell again he kicked it across the floor and stormed over to his bed and collapsed onto it, face first. His fists assailed the mattress, thwacking against the sheets and he let out a muffled scream. His tail puffed to pinecone. The Warrior of Light gave one final, great slam with his fists and then just laid there limp. Maybe like this it’d work if he didn’t suffocate first.
His ear twitched. Something in the air had shifted imperceptibly, and he only caught it a half a second before it introduced itself. He smelled pomegranates.
“Boy trouble…? Oh, I assure you, we've all been there, Warrior.” A smooth, apathetic voice ‘tried’ to soothe from aside the bed. Johnny’s ears moved back apprehensively and his tail whipped once. He didn’t move further, he said nothing.
“ …pretending I’m not here will not make it so,” The voice had moved a foot to the right. His left. What was he, a bird?
“You're the sleep expert,” Johnny droned into the fitted sheet. Unseen to him, the ascian blinked several times. Emet-Selch slowly turned and, with lidded eyes, peered out the window then finally made an ‘ahh’ motion with his mouth.
“I consider it more of a… longform hobby, but of your merry little troupe I’d suppose I am the best you could find, yes.” Johnny could hear the smile in his voice. The miqo’te finally turned his head and it’s a delightful surprise what the ascian sees. He looks hideous. Red-rimmed eyes, dark circles, dull complexion, ‘my word’, he thought, ‘he’s even begun to break out.’ The lack of sleep had wrecked absolute havoc on the adolescent.
“Knock me unconscious,” Johnny said.
Emet-Selch laughed. “Oh dear. An insomniac, are we?”
“I’m not kidding, please.”
“And why should I?” He tilted his head and smiled, lidded and catlike. Johnny’s features scrunched petulantly, and his brows pinched upward. His best attempt at entreatment.
“...I asked nicely?” It didn’t last long. His face soured, though not completely, as if there was only so much fight he could muster at that moment. Weakly. “Because I’ll throw myself out that window and scream ‘Emet-Selch did it’ if you don't?” And this wrung another laugh from the ascian, but it rang differently. It came a touch faster than usual, almost… unplanned.
“Would they believe—” He collected himself, “Would they believe I’d do something so cartoonishly absurd?”
Johnny stared, equally lidded. Brows furrowed. “Yes, because they hate you. Just like I’ll hate you if you don’t get me some sleep.”
Emet-Selch inclined his head. “Ah.” What an implication. Where his fellows hated him, the Warrior did…not?
“...what.”
A gloved hand waved this off. “Don’t mind me.” His fingers bent down to his palm and he smiled daintily. “You’ve wormed me into a good mood with all this flattery, and so I’ll deign to help you, just this once. No strings.” At those last two words his voice had gone up an octave and he’d almost sang it. The smile stretched into a toothy grin, the picture of trustworthiness. “And I’ll consider it an investment of my own into my continued entertainment.”
Johnny, for his part, remained a bump on a log. Rather, a lump on a mattress. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He stared. “Hit me. Hit me with it. Gimme your best shot,” he rose an arm and started pumping his fist, rallying and monotone, “Let’s gooooo—” and sudden silence. He fell back into the mattress, limp, and wouldn’t move again for a solid eight hours.
Emet-Selch rose his hand to snap his fingers but stopped. A strange feeling overcame him, and he indulges an impulse. He came forth, closing the distance and with his own, physical hands found the kicked blankets and pulled them over the sleeping boy. He looked at his unconscious form, his eyes landed upon his face, uncommonly serene, and he recognized much. His cheeks, his nose.
He closes his eyes for a moment. He lifts Johnny’s head onto the pillow, head turned so he could breathe properly and then the ascian left quickly, air rippling. Emet-Selch felt an ache.
“My list for ‘top three strangest places to find an illiterate’?” Emet-Selch peered about the library as he strolled in, materializing from a far wall. “This would be one.”
Alphinaud and Johnny whirled around, the former the quicker, and his initial shock was quickly schooled into an even glare he leveled at the ascian. “It’s not strange in the slightest. Libraries are ever places of learning and self improvement,” It was a precise level of challenging, he met him where he’d set the bar. “...and I dare say your manners could use it.” He tip-toed an ilm past the bar. Just a trifle.
Johnny didn’t even flinch. “What’s the other two?” He rose his chin at the ascian questioningly.
“Both are in Sharlayan,” Emet-Selch answered. Alphinaud was looking at them both strangely, fair brows creased. It wasn’t like his partner to breeze past an insult like that, even if he’d take it upon himself to answer it for him. But perhaps this was his own unique way of dealing with the ascian’s… character. After this closer look he gave him, he looked from Johnny and back to Emet-Selch.
“Oh, cool. Did you need something?” The miqo’te shifted and leaned against the bookcase. Emet-Selch smiled innocently.
“Not at all.”
“Can you get out?” Johnny asked. Alphinaud’s hand shot out for his and he squeezed imploringly, almost yanked, and the Warrior at once knew this to mean ‘gods above, be quiet!’.
Emet-Selch’s smile only grew, and he lurched over to his side as if he was speaking to a small child, and it was a rare sight for the smile to reach his eyes but plainly it wasn’t in their favor. “Am I interrupting something…?” And the answer from the two youths came concurrent.
“Yeah.”
“Well…”
and then they both looked at each other, and another wave of silent communication passed over them. He watched their faces— mostly the elezen’s— and he watched the clear warning from him and he watched it slide off of the miqo’te like a glob of blueberry jam. He smiled wider.
“Is it information you’re after…?” Emet-Selch lets out a small, delighted gasp. “Perhaps I could be of assistance? No doubt you’re chomping at the bit to peruse my breadth of experience and knowledge.” The ascian blinked innocently as Johnny, through the corner of his vision leveled a glare at him, contemptuous to a degree only a young man of seventeen could put out. “That is the meaning of the word ‘cooperation’, is it not?” He looked between them.
Alphinaud stepped forward. “Regretfully, we were just leaving. Perhaps some other time.” He took Johnny’s hand, nodded to the ascian, and with a look in the miqo’te’s direction the two left, or rather one was pulled towards the massive swinging doors by the other. He let himself be pulled and Johnny left his gaze on Emet-Selch, and he did him, one sweet the other sour, and just before the doors clicked shut in that small sliver of him left visible his aged face wrinkled into a further smile, absolutely pleased with himself, and he gave a tiny wave, folding his fingers into his palm. The doors closed.
Two gentle hands took his forearms, and he looked to his boyfriend. Alphinaud was the picture of stress. “What were you thinking?” He hissed, “Emet-Selch is our enemy; not only an ascian but one far, far more powerful than the rest besides. We must choose our words carefully when he’s listening!” His blue eyes widened till white encircled, and white thin brows creased then settled. He took a breath. “It’s plain to see that he aims, deliberately, to get beneath our skin…”
Johnny blinked slowly, and was staring at the wall now, shoulder slumped. He kissed his teeth. “...I think he knew, Alphy.” And the elezen perked up and blinked several times. He hummed questioningly.
“That we were on a date.” He watched his pale face turn red, and Alphinaud released his arms.
“H-How could he have…? A library is hardly the first place I would’ve considered—” Johnny stared at him, he rose his brows and he began to smile, and Alphinaud waved his hands, “f-for anyone else! Of course we— I—”
He giggled at him and his hands planted themselves on his hips. “He knew we wanted him gone, at least.” Johnny turned his head and flicked an unseen crumb from his jacket, “...like a damn cat or something.” and Alphinaud worked, valiantly, to remain silent at that.
The two loitered at the doors for a fair minute, the elezen fussing with his sliver-hemmed sleeve and the miqo’te popping his knuckles. He finally turned his head back towards the doors. “Y’think he’s still in there?”
“He couldn’t be,” Alphinaud murmured. The elezen rose his head, “Johnny, we could always go somewhere els—”
“Quittin’ words, Alph, quittin’ words,” Johnny stretched a hand out and opened a door a single crack. He put his eye to the sliver. He didn’t move for several long seconds.
“What are you doing?”
“Staring him down.”
“Johnny!” Alphinaud pulled him away from the door and, squeezing his hand, once again led him away. “Come— we’ll continue in one of our rooms. I have plenty of books for us to choose from,” He soothed, and the elezen thought ‘surely he wouldn’t follow us there. surely…’
They were sat uncomfortably at the dining table, books spread about like dishes. Alphinaud’s hands were folded politely at his lap, and occasionally he’d move one and begin to gesture towards a page, towards a word, but nothing left his mouth and his eyes would flick up nervously and he reverted back to his previous state, befuddled and beaten as if struggling at a chessboard.
Johnny had his chin resting on his folded arms. He was leaned over the table, slumped. His tail lashed. His ears were back. Finally he rose his head to speak. “This is weird. You’re being weird.”
“I’ll have you know, as Emperor of Garlemald I invested millions into education. It’s of the utmost importance to me.” Emet-Selch explained. He was sat across from the two, and each time Alphinaud had tried to begin, tried to select a word to read out to him the ascian had leaned closer as if at the uttering of a secret and caused the elezen to retreat. Things had been deathly silent.
Alphinaud turned, frowning. “And how high was Garlemald’s defense budget?” At that, the ascian turned and smiled derisively, lips curling, darkened lids falling.
“Now, my dear, I assure you funding for Garlemald’s defense not once siphoned funds from the civil budget. But, oh goodness, I do believe I’ve made this about me.” He turned and looked to Johnny. “Don’t let me keep you. Go on!”
Alphinaud cleared his throat and the chair squeaked against the floorboards as he scooted closer to his boyfriend. Their shoulders nearly brushed. Johnny was staring the ascian down again and a redness had come to his cheeks. Alphinaud gingerly pushed one of the books in front of them both and he pressed a slender finger to a sentence. “Can you tell me what letter this starts with?”
Johnny stared. Emet-Selch’s smile creased his painted eyes. ‘go on, now’ they said. The miqo’te lowered his head and looked to the page. Emet-Selch watched the furrow overcome his brow, how closely he searched, he watched his mouth move to try and sound something out and when the answer didn’t immediately come to him as it should, something seemed to land.
He’d known he was illiterate, but here it was, before him and in the flesh. His smile twisted, its parent emotion gone. The Warrior of Light, hero of the source, would-be savior of the First, a child, and unable to even read. Something steamed and ugly bubbled within him, and his lips flattened out and a darkness passed over his eyes.
‘this world has failed you.’
Countless, countless times. Emet-Selch had kept an eye on his soul (as he well should), and this particular incarnation nearly from birth had been adrift in the wind, left to fend for itself. He’d slipped through so many cracks. And yet the one most pivotal had swallowed him up, fashioned him into a weapon and here he was before him at this most pivotal junction in time, cruel gift of fate. This is him. This is he who would lead the sundered to their putrid victory. A boy.
“A ‘b’.” Johnny said. Alphinaud smiled supportively.
“...I’m afraid you have them flipped around again— that’s a ‘d’.” and when he let out a puff of breath and fell back into his chair, he raced to comfort him. “I-I perfectly understand the confusion, Johnny— they’re essentially the same letter, only backwards. You merely need to commit them both to memory…”
“Why’d they make em like that?” He cried, brows pinched up, and the elezen chuckled sympathetically.
“I believe I have the answer to that.” Emet-Selch spoke up, and all heads whipped towards him. He looked at Johnny, smile still rotten and flatlined. “Specifically to earn your ire, Hero.” and when the miqo’te didn’t lash back, didn’t glare, just sat there slumped in his chair with a frown, the ascian’s mood only decayed further.
“Let’s try another one. How about the letter next to it? Can you identify that one for me?” Alphinaud spoke softly, sweetly and Emet-Selch’s eyes lazily roved over to Johnny, and the same thing unfolded. He squinted.
“I don’t know what the hell that is. Someone messed up that ‘O’.” Johnny frowned.
“That would be a ‘Q’. A very uncommon letter. What sound does it make?”
“...like, a ‘kuh’ sound, right?” Johnny swung an arm over the back of his chair. Emet-Selch watched as the elezen bloomed into a smile.
“Correct! It’s the first letter of the word ‘quick’!”
“Congratulations,” the ascian drawled, looking very un-congratulatory.
Alphinaud frowned. “By your earlier claims, I’d assumed you’d have been the happiest for him.”
Emet-Selch smiled like venom. “Happy? How could I possibly be happy? I’m sat here watching a tragedy unfold.”
“Okay, yeah, and who’s fault is that? You invited yourself in!” Johnny sat up and lashed.
‘that’s more like it’, Emet-Selch thought. “I didn’t think it’d be responsible of me to leave you two lovebirds alone together,” he rose a gloved hand to his chest and spoke nobly. “As the adult in the situation, I—”
“I’ve had it!” Johnny exploded. He threw his chair back and rose and marched over to the other side of the table and the ascian let himself be yanked to his feet, grinning like a doll. “Get out!” Johnny spun him around and pushed and pushed, he shunted him towards the door. Alphinaud had leapt to his feet but was struck dumb, at a loss for words. His small mouth hung open.
“Out!” Johnny yelled. Emet-Selch began to lean back, and he let his weight begin to fall upon him, and the miqo’te struggled against; they slowed and he valiantly sacrified an arm to groping for the doorknob. The door swung open. His legs began to buckle. The ascian planted a hand across his forehead in a ghastly fashion.
“The… the aether, something has… I’m afraid I can’t keep myself upright…! I feel so heavy…”
“You fucking hag! What’s wrong with you?! GET OUT!” Johnny squealed— he was strong, but the weight bearing down on him was far, far beyond what the ascian’s vessel should’ve weighed and right as he collapsed into a heap on the floor, whatever was ailing Emet-Selch seemed to subside and he gracefully passed through the threshold as if nothing was amiss. He turned around and looked surprised.
“My word, what’s happened to you?”
Johnny groaned.
It was a beautiful day out— it always was on the First. They’ve lost all their clouds. The sky was the golden essence of summer. There was a nice little spot relatively close to the Pendants but tucked away where the two boys had spread out a blanket and were reclined in the gentle shade of a vibrant oak, tasting jams and toasts and buttery pastries.
After immediately tracking dirt onto the blanket he’d elected to take his shoes off and now sat crisscross in his socks, hands at his ankles and he grinned as Alphinaud detailed the surprising odyssey he had to embark on to get each jam.
“--... of course, you know I never tire of lending a hand when it’s needed, it’s the essence of Scionhood, I believe, but… and this doesn’t leave the two of us: I believe she was taking advantage of me.”
“Oh, she totally was.” Johnny nodded. “Y’know how some older people are, they just see younger folks like us as free labor.” Alphinaud opened his mouth and Johnny jabbed a finger at him, “The blueberry jam doesn’t count as a wage! Tell me what the hourly wage is here in the Crystarium and then tell me how much a jar of jam is, you got completely screwed.”
Alphinaud laughed, a delicate hand over his mouth, “I-I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea what it is, my friend,” and he tucked a stray lock of hair behind his long ear, “and even if I had… I doubt I would’ve thought of it that way. It’s something I… admire about you, Johnny, truly— you came out of your upbringing with so much worldly intelligence.”
The boy leaned forwards and rested his chin on his knuckles. “ ‘worldly intelligence’. You know if you said that to me a year or two ago I would’ve wanted to deck you.” and Alphinaud went red.
“Tha—that’s not how I— …my apologies, I didn’t intended for it to come across as condescending.”
“Nah, I know what you’re getting at. I had to care about gil, I had no choice. You hardly thought about it.” A pause, and then he smiled, and Alphinaud wilted because he knew exactly what’d crossed his mind.
“...a mistake I’ll never repeat. You know that.”
“I almost wish you would! I don’t think I’ll ever see Alisaie or Tataru that mad at you ever again.” Alphinaud frowned, he let his lip quiver, and Johnny continued. “Come on. C’mon, you gotta admit it was really funny. Listen— you can get back at me.”
“I don’t need to ‘get ba—”
“When we inevitably go to Sharlayan, and I see your house, you and your sister can point and laugh when my jaw hits the floor ‘cause I know it will.” A pause. “You’ve seen the hole in the wall I was living at back when.” He didn’t intend for it, but at the memory of it the elezen quieted and grew thoughtful. Him and Johnny had been constantly butting heads when he’d first joined the Scions, but now that he knew him very well, and knew the circumstances he’d been in around that time, he’d never shaken the guilt.
He’d never felt comfortable saying it, but it’d opened his eyes to how lucky he was. Education had never been a second thought. A roof, his next meal, basic safety. All things his partner had to fight for when he should’ve had a guardian providing those things for him. Alphinaud had spent hours pouring through documentation on child welfare institutions in Gridania and Ul’dah trying to figure out what exactly had gone wrong and it was so… mundane. Johnny was hardly unique. And yet…
Johnny rose to his feet and brushed crumbs onto his pants, “I’ll be right back, gotta hit the can. ..’restroom’. Whatever, hold on.” His tail flicked against Alphinaud’s knee as he turned and he watched him jog up the small stairs into the Pendants.
and yet… that boy, that young man who’s first interaction with him had been to steal gil right from his pocket for a sandwich had turned out to be the very same person who’d stand up against a towering dragon, against centuries old institutions, against… they were too many to name, and he didn’t endure any of this without complaining (as was his Twelve given right, infact he could stand to open up more), and as he’d privately admitted didn’t endure any of this without a fair measure of genuine fear, but still. He endured.
From the moment he was born, he endured, and he’d learned to do so with a grin. With laughter. He heard footsteps coming up behind himself and filled with affection as he was, he turned and smiled doeishly, “Johnny, I—”
“Hello,” Emet-Selch smiled. Alphinaud blinked several times in quick succession and screwed the lid back onto a glass jar of jelly. “Do you mind if I sit for a moment?” He braced his arms on the small of his back and leaned, and something creaked and popped. “I’m afraid I’ve been on my feet all day, and at my age these things simply aren’t easily recovered from.”
“...I suppose you could,” Alphinaud agreed, tentatively. He reached out and moved Johnny’s plates and half-eaten toast to his side, and the light and joy drained out of him as the ascian entered his field of view and slowly lowered himself down. He felt a faint churning in his gut. He wanted something.
…incidentally, he wanted some jam as well. Completely still, and without a word of complaint Alphinaud watched him reach for a fresh piece of toast and with a pinky raised, screwed open a jar of grape jelly. “A picnic, I see, with our vaunted Warrior. What a spread. You know… I never took him for the type to enjoy…” Lidded eyes roved about, and they settled on the flaky dough. “...pastries. Too delicate.”
He’d brought his own knife, though he hadn’t seen it until now and it scraped unpleasantly against the slice of toast. “This was your idea, was it not?”
“It was an idea we mutually agreed upon,” Alphinaud answered dully. Emet-Selch smiled wide.
“Oh, don’t look so dour, boy. You look as if I’ve arrived to re-negotiate your burgeoning allowance.”
“...if you’re implying I’m subjecting Johnny to something he’d find unenjoyable, I can assure you we were having a delightful time.”
Emet-Selch twisted his wrist, inspecting his slice of toast which he held at the crust between his index and thumb. He blinked slowly and looked from it to the elezen. “No doubt that you were; not from me, at the very least. It all looked very… romantic.” He’d said that last word almost accusatory. Gold pierced blue, and with only the faintest crinkle of his brow had he gone from aloof to warning. Alphinaud inhaled slowly. He would not be intimidated so easily.
He took a bite, and his words were left to sit and boil for a good fifteen seconds as he took his time. Alphinaud took a moment to glance back towards the Pendants. Emet-Selch swallowed and smiled seeing this. “We have plenty of time.”
The elezen’s head whipped back, alarmed. “Time? For— for what?”
“I’m awfully nosy, I hope you can forgive me for that. As the dreaded ascian-killer, savior of the source, performer of deeds both innumerable and heroic, you can imagine he’s captured my intrigue. A boy like him, a soul like his has the potential to make or break simply everything.” Another bite. Mercifully he wasn’t as long with this one. “...now, imagine my surprise when I see him continuously sneaking off with another boy around his own age.”
The smile dropped. The air around the two felt colder. Frigid. As if a cloud had passed overhead, but there were no clouds and no singular sun to be eclipsed. “...tell me, scholar. What makes you think you’re worthy of the Warrior of Light?”
Alphinaud was almost certain he hadn’t heard him right. “I-I beg your pardon?”
Emet-Selch placed his half-eaten toast down onto a napkin. He giggled disarmingly. “I may have ‘jumped the gun’ a bit there, my apologies. You two are… involved, are you not? Seeing eachother? …’going steady’? Whatever the word you youths are using in this age?”
“I think that’s none of your business.” Alphinaud spoke, firm.
“Oh, but I’d argue it’s everyone’s business, my dear. Is your Hero’s condition and fighting spirit not the business of every living soul on the Source? …No, not just the source— across all reflections of your star? Why, if something were to happen…”
“What are you implying?” He schooled back a glare, “I would never to anything to harm him. Nor any of our friends. Infact, I would hardly even consider myself physically able t—”
He rose a finger. “Ah. I believe you’ve missed it. The point. I speak not of the flesh but of the heart.” and at this, Alphinaud grew quiet. “Would you consider yourself able of that?”
The elezen looked away. “I… I’m afraid that I…” it was one of the first things he’s ever done. For those early months it was all he ever did. But he remembers who he’s speaking to, and his mouth forms a thin line. Alphinaud stares back, “...no. Forgive me if I’m still not comfortable speaking on such a personal topic with you. I believe you’d understand?”
Emet-Selch’s eyes flashed, the whites of his eyes shown. “You already have, haven’t you?” He eyed him closely, even through the proverbial door the elezen had shut in his face. “Now, now. I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. It was inevitable; one such as yourself and… him. Opposing shores, a gulf; the entire breadth of an ocean lies between the two of you. I count far more differences than commonalities.”
“It’s those very differences that bring us together.”
“Do you know what that says to me? …it says that you're young,” he whispered, harsh and foreboding. “Innumerable eons ago, I once thought as you did. Yet what brings two together is oft what tears them apart.
…don’t tell me you’ve never wondered. Never fretted.” Emet-Selch’s voice grew mockingly torn and distraught, and he mimicked the elezen’s tone, “ ‘Oh, how am I ever to make this work?’ ” and then he looked at him closely, “ ‘What would my father say?’ “
Alphinaud froze. His chest rose and fell. “You… you know naught of my father.”
“Please. I know more than you think. I know the disdain he holds for that backwater continent he hails from, and I wouldn’t need much to presume he expects you to introduce him to a young, lady elezen some day.”
at his silence, “...but what do I know? I’m cooped up in some nefarious purple expanse all day, I don’t ‘get around’...” He continued in a whiny voice of mock petulance. The ascian turned and sipped from a cup that wasn’t there a moment ago, pinky up.
“...if I may ask you this, Emet-Selch… why are you so invested in Johnny and I’s relationship? I-If it’s as doomed as you make it out to be.” The elezen belied his well-worn confidence and it turned back in the face of his increasingly unsteady ground.
He grinned toothily, framed by painted lips. “Haven’t I told you? It’s everyone’s business.” He placed his hands on his knees and worked himself to standing, and as he did, the expression faded. He sighed, “... I was a father, once upon a time, and you boys are terribly young. Far too young for this, and I’ll let that be as my final point.” And when he stood, staring down at Alphinaud, the Light didn’t reach his face, he eclipsed it, and the boy stared up into darkness and aged cheeks and two discs of gold.
He stared down. “...he will never approve. Never accept him.” Then Emet-Selch turned and left.
“Sorry. Ran into someone, you know how it is. ‘yap yap yap yap yap!’” Johnny’s voice rang from behind. He made a puppeting motion with his hand, ‘yap yap’, and laughed. “...Alph? Aw, I wasn’t that long, was I?” The boy leaned into the elezen’s field of view playfully, then continued along and dropped back onto the blanket. He leaned back and let his hands prop himself up from behind.
“Joh—Johnny, I don’t think….” Alphinaud began, but paused. “I don’t think you were that long at all.” and it was as if he was going to say something else. He smiled politely.
He plucked the half-eaten toast. “Dude, whose is this? Who the hell eats grape jam?”
“That was me.”
“What’s it doing over here? …here you go.” He held it out and after a moment Alphinaud took it and he placed it somewhere to the side, out of sight. He was silent as he gathered his thoughts, and Johnny knew something was coming.
“Do you think it’s… strange, that we’re an elezen and a miqo’te? Tog—Together?” The scholar asked. The Warrior paused and took on one of his thoughtful expressions, one that Alphinaud loved, because it meant that he was deeply considering something and weighing it seriously and almost always, he’d say something awfully profound in its simplicity. It’d been a balm countless, countless times when Alphinaud had been stuck inside his own head.
Johnny looked back up and he smiled and the elezen felt that tickling warmth. “... I’ll raise you a better question.
‘is strange bad?’ ”
“There you are.” Emet-Selch said.
There was a lumpy heap on his bed. He wasn’t even under the covers; he looked so bad that ‘lump’ was an apt descriptor. Inexplicably both pale and flushed, his blond hair stuck to his forehead and glazed eyes stared straight through the ascian. Emet-Selch could hear his breathing from where he stood, from where he’d materialized, several paces from the door.
Through the mouth and weak. Congested and feverish. The kind of illness small, sundered children always seemed to be coming down with, taking them perilously close to the Underworld. Given his age, the sickness likely wouldn’t become that severe, but when the ascian looked to him he saw someone far younger.
“Guh,” Johnny replied. Oh, what a little wretch. His drooping eyes inched, following Emet-Selch as he slinked his way around the room.
“I had wondered where you were, missing our little talk at the Occular; your presence was missed, Hero. The blue one told me you’ve fallen ill, and it seems he’d made no exxageration.” He looked him over, and painted lips twitched, a canine flashed. “You are the very picture of misery.”
“Come here, I’ll sneeze on you,” Johnny vowed, voice raspy with snot. Emet-Selch straightened himself and blinked owlishly.
“You do know for a ‘trick’ to be successful, your object must be caught unawares, yes?” and the boy merely made a nasty look then brought his head back down against the cold pillow.
“Can ascians even get sick,” he asked. Emet-Selch smiled.
“If you truly wanted the answer to that question, I believe you’ve already shot yourself in the foot, as it were.”
“You won’t tell me.” The ascian ventured closer. He was standing at his bedside now, hands clasped at his middle, and head tilted as he stared down at him. Johnny felt as if he was hallucinating, as if some looming specter of death had arrived to wait for him to ‘eat it’. He felt as if…
He rasped something again, and the ascian rose a hand to cup his ear and leaned down. Johnny took this as if he actually hadn’t heard and repeated himself: ‘can I have a glass of water’.
Emet-Selch rose back to his usual height and hummed in consideration. Johnny immediately felt stupid. Why had he asked him that? When he couldn’t sleep, that was one thing. He flushed further. He’d been overcome with an odd sense that the ascian was someone who’d take care of him. He tried to rationalize this, of course, why else had Emet-Selch stood so closely? Anyone would’ve made the same mistake.
The ascian turned and sauntered off further into the room, “....no. I didn’t come here to play nursemaid. I came to see if you truly were as ill as they’d claimed, and—” Johnny bolted upright in bed and Emet-Selch turned and he’d actually stopped speaking. They stared at eachother. He flung the blankets off of himself and threw his bare legs over the side of the bed and the ascian turned fully and for once he hadn’t the slightest idea what this sundered was planning and
Johnny’s legs crumpled, a horrible look overcame him and he’d gotten terribly pale and all at once Emet-Selch knew what was coming and control of himself was wrested from the ascian, and someone else pulled Johnny to himself and brushed the hair out of his face, quickly, and in an instant there was a bucket for him to spill his guts out into. He rubbed his back soothingly. His hands felt as if they’d acted on their own.
Emet-Selch looked away, but he didn’t pull away as Johnny emptied himself. He closed his eyes. To his dismay he’d known exactly what’d overcame him, that… that instinct that would never leave him, that part of himself that would never die no matter how many eons passed. He could not rid himself of it. He would always be…
…he looked at his son’s soul, withered and cracked as it was, and the boy groaned pathetically over the bucket. He gently shushed him and his gloved fingers pushed more hair from his clammy face.
He’d always be a father. It ate at him, caustic, and once he’d finished he stepped away and watched as the boy slumped to the floor, on his rear, in his sleep clothes. Johnny looked at the bucket, and then slowly, wobbling, turned to peer up at him. Emet-Selch avoided his eyes, his face, his son’s wretched face.
“Dispose of that. I won’t do it for you.” He glared down at him, painted lips twisted in disgust, and the miqo’te’s ears flattened down. His robes fluttered as he whirled and, without even a snap of his fingers,
“Emet-S—”
he vanished into a rippling surface of purple, and Johnny was left on the floor with a bucket of his own sick.
Thump-thump da-dump thump-thump da-dump, and then down an octave, thump-thump da-dump thump-thump da-dump. His fingers twitched up and down the frets and he was laid on his back on his mattress, legs dangling off the edge and swaying.
Johnny often played bass simply to steady himself and it wasn’t a song so much as a pacemaker or a ticking clock, putting sound to moments and orderly carrying himself from one instant to the next. Otherwise he could be subject to something ghastly, like experiencing minutes and minutes at a time all at once and he’d do something embarrassing like knocking on Alphinaud’s door at eleven at night and spreading it to someone else who surely didn’t need it.
Thump-thump da-dump thump-thump da-dump he didn’t think to play something different, not right now. Johnny just wanted to feel time passing through his fingers. Somewhere, at some time, as he drifted, he thought like a cloud passing overhead that maybe he should pick up the drums. Maybe hitting something as he did this would feel even better than picking at strings.
His brows furrowed in thought. Or maybe he could save the drums for when he was pissed off. Ooh, there was an idea, it’d save Tataru from having to buy him a new punching bag twice a month…
Another melody joined him and it sounded quiet and far-away and for several minutes the miqo’te chalked it up to his imagination filling in the rest of the song. It wasn’t until he decided to give his fingers a break and the melody continued alone for a moment that he realized.
Someone had started playing with him. Johnny sat up on his bed. In the far corner was a grand piano and he couldn’t believe who was sat there.
He’d settled on a low note, fingers long and delicate on the key and Emet-Selch turned, craning his neck and eyeing Johnny as if he’d interrupted him, dark brow risen high and earring twinkling. They stared at eachother. Johnny didn’t say anything. He did eventually break eyecontact with him and swung his legs off the bed and stood. A hand traced the polished, painted wood of his bass and he shifted around as if unsure before he started playing something different and wandered farther from his bed. Emet-Selch turned back around and returned to the keys. Some silent understanding had reached them both.
Thud-dump ba-da-bump, ba-da-bump, thud-da-da-dump. It was brighter and just a little bit faster. Johnny didn’t know what this was, but when presented with the opportunity to ask, to discover, he felt he was content with what he’d merely seen and at least for the moment left everything alone and continued, and the ascian had… let it be.
Where his playing was faster, Emet-Selch had slowed and let the bass act as the leading instrument, playing long, steady notes, backing him up. He had to play quietly for this to work. It was an old piano, and Johnny was struck by the beauty of it and how the sound seemed to vibrate through the entire structure, not just the piano but the room, as if the whole world became the instrument when it was played. It made him and his bass feel remarkably small, but not in a way that bothered him. Thud-dump ba-da-bump, ba-da-bump, thud-da-da-dump.
“Now listen, because I do not give this lightly,” Emet-Selch finally spoke, calm and light. He waited until he had Johnny’s attention, which didn’t take too long because there’d been no warning and he’d startled him. Once he did, the ascian returned to the ivories.
He began, higher and almost singsong-y, “If you ever need me…” and he played a short, simple series of notes, a little diddy. Thump, bump, ba-da-da-dump. Johnny stared blankly. The seat creaked as Emet-Selch looked back, earring twinkling, and at what he saw he sighed and rolled his golden eyes.
He kept his gaze on him and played again, insistently, and rose his dark brow. The boy squinted and, confused, played the notes back to him and Emet-Selch smiled.
“What if I don’t got my bass with me?”
“...as a musician, I’d hope you’d have a little creativity.” He retorted. “Don’t sour the moment. I could make this incantation work only if played on a blade of grass if so tested.”
“You taught me magic?!” Johnny cried, incredulous.
Emet-Selch laughed. “No. I taught you to speak in a way only I can hear… my dear.”
He pulled the strap of his bass from his shoulder. “...why? Aren’t we… y’know.” Johnny’s voice lowered, and despite everything there was the faintest note of disappointment, “...enemies.” The hand remaining on the piano keys finally fell to Emet-Selch’s lap, and for a moment he simply sat and gazed at the youth.
“Can one never be more than such?” he finally asked.
Johnny didn’t say anything for a moment. Something about what he’d said struck him and he gazed at the wall behind his head, and a profound sadness settled over him. That’d sounded uncharacteristically earnest and, especially, where the ascian could’ve easily said something witty to make him feel stupid, it tugged on one of the boy’s strings. An old, old string. One far older than himself.
Could they ever be more than simply two opposed forces? A more important question was: did Johnny even want that? Worry grew within him. He found that a part of him did. Something about the old man stuck to him like glue, but glue that’d… been there before, and he was only just now discovering it. That was what he’d kept coming back to each time he entered his thoughts. Nothing about Emet-Selch was new. Maybe it was manufactured, maybe it was purposeful overfamiliarity. But Gods did it work, did he feel so surely like someone he already knew.
He remembered what he stood for, that painted smile and those smoky, lidded eyes and something in the boy dulled. “You gotta hope so,” Johnny began, “...because it’s sure as hell not going away.” Green eyes flicked towards the window, blaring gold sky and Emet-Selch slowly followed his gaze. He hummed.
“...no.” The ascian agreed softly. Barely a murmur. He let the piano fallboard click shut. “It isn’t.”