concordance_logs | [Pirated Tea | Locked to Dr. Cid]

Entry tags:

[Pirated Tea | Locked to Dr. Cid]

Characters: Vayne Carudas Solidor, Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa
Where: Balfonheim port
When: 24th Blackfrost/February, closer to early afternoon
What: A tea party
Warnings: Cid and Vayne, two of Ivalice's primary antagonists sharing tea and gossip? What more warning do you need?

The day is brighter, warmer at these later hours, and so calm despite the portent from earlier of a Terrible Thing having been done yet again. Vayne feels if anyone is to blame for the ruckus, it should indeed be the High Seraph as is her rightful claim to all things that seem to want to upend the plans he died for those four years ago. He sits in a partially covered terrace with a stunning example of what could be considered some amount of class for the place, one part of a larger restaurant boasting fare he has deemed palatable. He has altered his disguise just enough so the sun can touch his paled skin. From his vantage point he can see many things, many places, many faces, but better still is the soft lull of the ocean, a surprising joy to behold after so long spent inland. Even on his trips to and from Jylland o'er the sea he has taken little time to sit and breathe, though as with all pirates and ports they make more noise than he cares for.

Here and there he notes Archadian Imperials, some observing, others forging ahead with business deals, and some doing what he can only assume is the business of the 9th though he feels the Captain would never own up to it. They stick out like the threat of unspent violence, soiling the cuff, and nearly the smell of the tea.

While he awaits Cid's inevitable appearance, he watches the curl of steam from the spout of the pot, piecing together in his mind the events which have come to trouble him. The good Doctor had always been useful to Vayne's plans, his studies and interests thankfully coinciding, and though, indeed, many called him mad, he had survived and outwitted many over the years before even the young lord himself had been any sort of self propelled force in the courts in Archades. He could be intimidating, humorous, tasteless, crafty, misleading, tenacious - really, he was everything the Solidor knew to respect, and after some traits, even admire.

He tests the tea, pouring a little into his cup, then removing the strainer with practiced grace.

Still no sign of the Doctor. Oh well, better not let the drink go to waste. The once Emperor sips, letting his gaze meander once more.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Balfonheim - for all of it's splendorous glory- is nothing like the capitol that Cidolfus grew to adore. However, that truth doesn't stop the good doctor from appreciating the beautiful shoreline scenery. Cidolfus arrived here at Balfonheim's port during the early part of the day after making a few pit-stops along the way. After his daring escape from the Necrohol of Horrors and Shambling Corpses, Cidolfus happened upon a merry troupe of caravaneers on route to Balfonheim. Knowing full well he couldn't transverse across the plains by foot, Cidolfus struck a deal with the merchants and joined them on their journey. Along the way, he managed to convince their leader to stop momentarily at one of the many windmills that dot the lush landscape.

Now there's much about the good doctor that the average man wouldn't know. Doctor Cid, for better or for worse, is always prepared. Even after becoming chairman at the prestigious Draklor Laboratory, Cidolfus never trusted the facilities well enough to store away the brunt of his research there. Heavens, no! After living under the thumb of the Senate and Emperor Gramis's whimsies for one too many years; Cidolfus constructed a secret lab within the heart of the Cerobi Steppe.

By all means, this mock laboratory isn't any fancy. It's merely a study that serves as a library for everything the good doctor couldn't possibly commit to memory. Though, it should be noted that here at his hidden laboratory is where Cid found another change of clothes, a few weapons (firearms, no less) and few notes on his previous research.

"Hm?" A faint hum escapes the doctor's lips as he glances around this less than cozy tavern. There's more cutthroats than pirates here, but he can seldom tell the difference between the two. "Far too many barflies and twice as many more whores, I see." Cidolfus grumbles as he adjusts the bronze frames upon his face. Despite being resurrected by none other than the High Seraph herself, Cidolfus's poor eyesight remains the same. Without these thinly framed spectacles, the good doctor would be as helpless as a babe.

Were it any other man, perhaps Vayne would not have noticed him - as it stands, it is sometimes difficult to avoid noticing the good Doctor even when you close your eyes and wish very fervently to be left alone with your tea and useless quiet. But with Cid, for Vayne, always did come Venat, and the promise of more things to be used, and information of a bolstering sort to be levied against the bastion of the Gods and their works.

As he rises to garner Cid's attention from the innermost parts of the establishment, he feels an aching memory of nethicite inlay into his very flesh and bones. It does not stop his voice from warmth, "My friend!" The Solidor takes care to push from the table entirely, strong strides taking him to Cid's side. "Your vision failed you yet wherein Siegfried goes unnoticed?" There's a click to his tongue, but he offers the older man a bow of his head, perhaps less than his station truly demanded but in these circumstances he is sure the scientist will not mind. They are both men who are not exactly what they were before. "A pain fills my breast, sir."

A hint of surprise washes over Cidolfus once his gaze rests upon Vayne. Gone were the illustrious robes of House Soldior replaced by cotton woven garbs that look suspiciously Dalmascan by design. The man before him barely looks like he bears any relationship to the late Emperor Gramis despite being his son.

Curiously cocking up his brow, the good doctor makes his way towards Vayne with a slight smile upon his lips. "Taking advantage of the elongated daylight, I see." Cidolfus remarks with a chuckle. "That's good, that's good! I had feared that my summons to Balfonheim wouldn't sit to well with you." Cid's smile dims a little but only by a notch. He's in good spirits despite the gravity of their plight. After all, there's a whole slew of people who would love to see them dead.

"Now tell me, is the tea here as horrid as I fear it to be?"

To see Cidolfus by contrast so well equipped - it does not feel like four years have gone, and that Vayne has been awake, gods forbid, nigh a scant two months in a pathetic display of magnanimity from the Seraph's hand - the once Emperor feels yet more displaced. To be sure, he could have approached his private accounts, prescribed to see certain ends meted out and controlled beyond his death, but to do so would invite questions, garner attention and fanatics, and his brother, the Lord Emperor, cannot afford fanatics. The Empire cannot afford them, not yet. Indeed, Ultima may think him easy to be dismissed, but the terror and respect he did so inspire once - ? It could easily rent what delicate balance Larsa has struck with those who are, to be sure, dissatisfied with him. It was to be expected when one did use those akin to the late Judge Magister Bergan to further their ends. The young man would never be enough for them, and he would never grow fast enough to escape their snares and dislike.

All in all, however, these quick thoughts, heavy in their weight, are gently shelved in his mind, and Vayne gestures towards the table sitting beyond the walls where the pot awaits betwixt a pair of matching cups, a soft hum thrumming from his throat. "Sit you thus and shall I watch you find out?" The man shakes his head, smiling, his hand dropping to his side. " 'Tis no Archadian fare, I warrant you, but it serves its ruminating purpose."

Vayne awaits Cid's starting movements towards the table before he continues, responding to the earlier comments: "Balfonheim is entangled, preoccupied, and thus unseeing." He says this with little fear of any reaction, as most around them seem inclined to bury their noses and pretend the world outside themselves does not exist, that Ultima does not seek the end of each and every one of them, and that their troubles, by comparison, now seem so...trivial.

"Please allow me these words I speak wherein that I am...glad to see you."

While Cidolfus very much looks exactly the same has he did four years ago, something else is noticeably different about the doctor as he speaks. His eyes. During the influence of his maddening quest for nethicite, Cidolfus wore the gaze of a madman with pride. His eyes were erratic and sharp back then, almost like a wild beast. Despite still being quite "wild" in the term of his morals and sometimes speech; Cidolfus's gaze is oddly calm now. Those bright hazel eyes are calm with sincerity and hidden wisdom. Though, it's uncertain whether or not such placidity will stick with Cidolfus who's so easily allured by thoughts of power.

"The sentiments are quite mutual, Vayne." Cidolfus had taken a liking of calling the former consul by his given name a long time ago. Though, he only done so in private for the most part. "I had hoped I wasn't the only one who had spoken with our fair lady." Of course he's hinting to Ultima as of now. While he's eager to speak about his odd encounter with the High Seraph, Cidolfus opts for trying some of the tea instead.

"Call me shocked." He mutters with a hint of surprise in his tone. "It isn't seawater after all."

Edited 2015-02-27 19:58 (UTC)

To be sure, Vayne is thankful for the moment of calm in the scientist's eyes, and yet he is also wary of it. At these moments Cid's intellect and demeanor could be a thin mask to plans that could take him away from the Solidor's needs, from the needs that the once heir is resolved upon seeing come to pass lest the rest of the world suffer more than could ever be repaired.

The casual dismissal of the name Vayne had offered for Cidolfus' use comes as no surprise though the kind words in return are gratefully heard. He ensures his companion is seated comfortably before taking his own seat once more (and the man's cup filled as is polite), fishing out the grimoire that has stalked him and yet been a suspicious blessing in disguise with it's disreputable insistence upon recording all that happened to the Solidor, including his revival and meeting with Ajora.

When Cid mutters his pleasured shock, the younger man chuckles, head rising a little from where he flips through the pages in his search, tongue forming the words in a humorous tease: "Fished fresh from the bay like ourselves? The golden lady may be a fishmonger, but fortune favors the schooling I received despite all malignant effort."

Vayne, bitter? Why never.

A causal hint of amusement tugs at Cidolfus's lips as he takes another sip of his tea. While the bitterness in the young Soldior's tone doesn't surprise him, Cidolfus cannot help but feel somewhat slighted. He's still on the fence in the regards of their miraculous resurrection, but he appreciates being alive again. Whether or not he feels compelled to align himself with the High Seraph is still yet to be known, but he's not eager to fade away for a second time.

"I would count thy blessings despite however meager they are, Siegfried." He answers once he had enough or the heated slop within his cup. Balfonheim's glory lies within its tropical locals, not its less than refined cuisine. This much he realises now that his stomach has lurched a bit. They are both truly far away from the elegant refinery of Archades, and this actually saddens Cidolfus.

"It only makes sense to show slithers of gratitude for that fact alone, lest we be comforted by the thought of being eternally damned." While Cid cannot recall a thing after being slain by his son, the good doctor is still not eager to return to nothingness.

"However, I digress, my lord."

Vayne, alas, would not appreciate it though he is pleased he has a chance to change the events so set before him, and others should they make the choice to stand firm. He would not again see the history of man threatened, the lives of those he had sworn to protect and defend despite their hate and refusal of choices he had to make. He is, in fact, certain Cidolfus will see this quite clearly in a matter of minutes.

Vayne's head tilts, however, understandably chided but he does not apologize for something he does not feel. Not here. He has no need for lying to keep Cid's interest. "I regret the perception of Hellfire means little to me, and my reasons are thus - " his wrapped hands push the grimoire towards the scientist with scant flourish, his expression tight, grim. "Four years divide us from the war's bitter end, our end, and life has but been fed into mouths unwilling to fill the oceans with our blood. All life, in fact." He pauses and leans back, taking another careful sip of the tea, and for once grateful for his iron stomach. "The Seraph must be stopped."

A strange look settles within Cidolfus's eyes as he glances down at the grimoire. "An open book, are we?" He says while idly flipping through the pages. The sincerity within Vayne's tone somewhat puts him on edge. What is it about Ultima that leaves the former Emperor in such distress? Cidolfus adjusts his glasses a little as he reads. His expression changes from placidity to obvious fear. He glances up at Vayne briefly with a questioning look before returning back to the book.

After what seems to be half an eternity, Cidolfus abruptly closes the grimoire and lets out a frustrated sigh. "The Witch means to use us." He grumbles aloud. "Much like our otherworldly overlords, this witch means to use us. She means to strip us of our victory and bind us within metaphorical chains much like the Occuria." A scoff escapes him as he offers the grimoire back to Vayne.

"The Slaves have become the Enslavers."

There, within the pages in precise and organized script, lay the Solidor's new life, whatever that indeed would care to mean, dancing from his fingertips like a sprite leading the damned to hell - and damned he was if the Seraph had bothered to give him reason to rise again. By her own two hands, no less, a smile deigning to pretend to lend her features warmth.

Those moments pass quickly, but Vayne finds they are an age of agony that he ensures to ensnare before they further darken his face with long, gnarled fingers, sour what control he has and force him to put the cup of tea down. For a moment, his eyes gaze and find the smallest of hairline cracks traveling from the delicate handle, splintering into the now exposed bottom with its carefully painted peony pattern revealed as the colored water was drained. Was it the tea, or merely the topic of conversation that disrupted all so?

When the Doctor speaks again, the once Emperor compulsively reaches for his cup, nigh bringing it to his lips before he stops - it's still empty. For some seconds he stares. Air forces its way through his throat and mouth as with a soft clink of saucer and cup meeting again, he closes his eyes.

His tone of voice, though still articulate and well formed, is soft, the chill Vayne has felt so oft of late creeping into the edges of the language he lets spill from him. "Though my mind has pondered and pursued the topic to extort some semblance of sanity - there is none that hath deigned to illuminate creeping shadows." The man's eyes open again, and he looks to the Scientist, seeing the lines of years in his face, the way they connect and mold together at the corner of his eyes and tease creases into his forehead - they are so much the same as before. Has four years come and gone so fast where they have truly been dead? The Solidor does not hold his breath long. "Know you hence any art or magick unyielding to challenge this repetition of History's weave?"

Cidolfus remained quiet, but his silence spoke volumes. Does he truly know of anything or anyone capable of halting their downward spiral into sin? The good doctor takes a moment to ponder while keeping his gaze focused upon his white gloved hands. "Do you mean to halt the inevitable, my lord?" Cidolfus asks after one too many minutes of silence.

"The road of good intentions is often paved in the blood. This much you know quite well considering our past exploits in both Archades and fair Nabradia." He mumbles quietly as if to keep the local street urchins from overhearing their discussion. While no one would expect the Former-Emperor and the Good Doctor to take up residence here, Dr. Cid isn't the type to take any chances. He much rather have the entire world believe he's still dead than to announce his miraculous resurrection to all. "Therefore, think wisely, my lord. Have we not attempted to free Ivalice once before from a similar end? We've already paid the Reaper's toll twice over." Cidolfus lets out a slight sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"If only I had learned more during Venat's tutelage, then perhaps I would have your answer. “ Another sigh leaves him. “But alas, I find myself thinking of the old scripts that spoke of the great Omega’s crusade against the Scions of long past.” He waves his hand in a dismissive manner as if to shoo the thought away. "Only the Occurians had mastered technology in such a way to create the Mark Twelve. It's said that Omega Mark Twelve was once powerful enough to force even the legendary Zodiark into crystal stasis."

Vayne hears the words of the scientist and resists shaking his head. He cares little for this part of the conversation - he has already decided, made a choice to bear a heavy weight, to stain his hands with blood regardless of its status as innocent or not. To stay his hand now would be an insult, taking only half the yoke of responsibility across his shoulders when he has so much to pay for. In the end, however, the words still carefully clip into his mind, fragile shards finding footholds. He still respects Cid's opinion, and though they have not always seen eye to eye, in some ways, he has found the man to be closer as a father than even the late Emperor Gramis was.

The thought of Gramis makes Vayne's eyes close again, but he continues to listen to Cidolfus explain the fragility of their situation, how they are so lacking and, unlike the Occuria, not so outfitted with the merits of their eons of knowledge, unable to forge something akin to -

He looks up, jaw adjusting, tasting his words lest he be overhasty in sharing them with his companion, "Is it necessary to manufacture such a beast when, perhaps, the beast itself could suit our needs instead?" A smile grasps onto the edges of his lips, and for a moment, Vayne is young again, eyes alight with a naive fire. "The Great Crystal retains it, yes?" His mind is quick, latching onto this singular possibility. It may not be the only thing they come across, but it will do for now - it is a start.

A slow grin stretches upon Cidolfus's lips once his lord speaks of the Great Crystal. Just speaking about invading Giruvegan's walls for a second time amuses him to no end. He could just imagine the hell they would have to endure to reach the gates of the lost city nevertheless the crystal itself. Though, none of this deters the maddening grin upon the doctor's face. "How bold of you." He jests with a slight chuckle or two.

"I've never known you to be this daring, but I'm all for a second expedition." Cidolfus says as he gently adjusts his spectacles. It should go without saying that neither of them are ready to explore the vasts depths of the Feywood just yet. No, it will take time before they're prepared enough to try this endeavor. However, this scheme of theirs certainly gives Cidolfus a faint slither of hope. Perhaps the two of them can thwart the Blood Seraph before the end draws near.

"Consider me at your command, my lord. Shall I prepare suitable escorts for our possible adventure?"

The smile upon Cid's face causes a quiver in the Solidor - but excitement or concern, perhaps only time will tell. All he knows is that it feeds a spark of adrenaline within him, and he remains smiling coolly when contrasted with the sharper flame of Cidolfus' smile, only his eyes reflecting the scorch that is the good Doctor's despite the pale color. Such years had passed wherein they had worked with haste, and now again it seemed their tenacity would be tested. It could be enjoyable, but in the end it would be necessary which was all the more reason to pursue it.

His head nods. "Time is short; we must ploy with decisive haste - " the Solidor's eyes slip to the crowd in an obvious gesture meant to be followed, fingers upon a hand flicking from their curled position on the table towards those that wander about - "- perchance Balfonheim and its disorderly assembly will serve a purpose after all?" The man's smile grows a little thinner; they need a base of operations, and as it stands now, the port has no master with Zecht dead these four years.

At the mention of Balfonheim serving as a suitable base for operations, Cidolfus catches the end of some grumbling rogue's ill jest. "Dirty imperial dogs, eh?" The doctor repeats one he notices that half of the tavern's local loiters were watching them now. "Ah, I do believe we've formed a bit of a crowd." He mutters to Vayne quietly enough for their onlookers not to hear him. While Balfornheim would do well to serve as their new base, Cidolfus is a tad worried about all the roughnecks wandering about here. The port hasn't had a master since Zecht and it shows hence the reason for his hesitance.

"This might turn ugly." Cidolfus states as he fingers the pistol at his holster. Much like his son, Cidolfus is a marksmen of renowned skill. While Balthier does his best with rifles, Cidolfus tends to be more fond of pistols. "What say you, my lord? Think this port is truly worth all this trouble?" He questions while keeping his gaze on the riffraff.

Edited 2015-03-15 22:38 (UTC)

It must be their accents, or perhaps even their airs. Vayne knows men are oft inclined to judge first what they see, and think little until prodded on the matter. Particularly men who have, no doubt, felt hounded and pushed by these very "dogs" they seem so keen on returning the favor to.

Dryly, he replies, "One might think they've little to no schooling with such callous and disproportionate usage." He's had more than enough of dog puns to last a lifetime. The Archadian Warhounds themselves are in fact some rather large and terrifying array of breeds, and the Solidor has always liked them, ever since he was a child. Loyal to a fault, powerful, armored, and more intelligent than most would dare breed them to be - they are perfect companions when balanced with an equally well off Master. As it is, the association is taxing, and serves no purpose but childish ridicule.

He continues, slowly standing and adjusting the wraps that contain and guard his palms and wrists. "One can never expect ease or comfort in all things, my friend. If there is blood to be spilled, let it be so." His gaze turns to the crowd that now has taken a pace back, allowing him to center his feet. "If not now, it will ensue at some other, more lamentable date." And by that point, it may be too late. If they do not start now, the Seraph, who has had more time on them to pursue her own ends, may win.

Edited 2015-03-17 01:35 (UTC)

Once Vayne given his consent, Cidolfus already managed to shoot one man in the leg and shot another in the chest in record time. Barely even five seconds have passed and someone's lying in a pool of their own blood. Cidolfus couldn't help but smirk as he watches the morale of the other scoundrels hit an all time low. "Therefore, let us settle this now." The good doctor says as he aims his pistols towards the next sky pirate. A sadistic chuckle escapes the mad scientist as he starts shooting up a storm. He's marksmanship is something to fear especially since Cidolfus doesn't like to hold back.

"Better run you worthless scalawags!" Cidolfus laughs maniacally as he literally starts chasing their would-be opponents throughout the tavern. The little old doctor is awfully spry. He's literally battling against men half his age with almost no effort. As for the unfortunate bastard he shot earlier, the poor man is attempting to reach for his rifle and aim towards Vayne.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Pirated Tea | Locked to Dr. Cid]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject