Vayne Carudas Solidor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cruentatafoedus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
concordance_logs2015-02-25 07:47 pm
cruentatafoedus) wrote in concordance_logs2015-02-25 07:47 pm
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.
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."