« Yainu-Par – The Lavender Beds, Eorzea │ day nineteen »
Coco takes a deep breath and then exhales, determined to perceive her current surroundings from a different angle. With both eyes closed she first concentrates on the scent of water racing by in the swift-moving stream. There's that background note of algae, earthy like waterlogged soil, and an ever so faint perfume of water lilies washed over with sweet lavender hanging on the breeze. Another breath and it's changed composition entirely : sun-baked wooden boards, heavy canvas awnings of the pavilion damp with recent rain and a swirl of eastern cherry blossom trees shedding their petals somewhere near by.
Next in the sensory expedition are sounds of the riverside pier. Coco picks up the distinctive noise of pike thrashing about in the shallows; their predatory dash spelling doom for some smaller, less defensive fish. Snippets of a two-way conversation float over about someone named Milu causing scandal in a steamy affair if those two gossiping adventurers are to be believed. Leaves scrunch in the great oak behind Coco, with that same provoking breeze causing flowers to rustle and blades of grass to softly rattle against one another like warring sabres. She sighs at length, adding to the ambiance and at last opens her eyes, wincing at the too-bright sunlight.
Having withdrawn from that jaunt of auditory discovery Coco extracts her notebook and a fine-tipped drawing pencil from the haversack. She had been determined to experience Eorzea in a manner other than light and shadow, searching for hidden depths she could later share with Hope. That unexpected encounter at her estate two days ago had shaken things up. Not only had Coco been entangled in a strange uncharacteristically open mood due to lack of sleep, but the aftermath had plunged her into perpetual musing.
Take this morning, for instance. Even though she's witnessed these very surroundings in every possible weather and season combination, how is she to remember them a year from now? Maybe she'll live elsewhere – like grandfather Sylvain does – in some other place where the landscape ingrains itself upon her subconsciousness, nudging out those old and faded memories of the Twelveswood. It's important, therefore, to record everything; to draw and write, to capture these cherished experiences so that they can survive many years from now. Who knows what the future will bring?
Coco exhales loosely and reaches across to stroke Choux, trailing a line between those tiny vestigial wings. He's fast asleep, naturally unaffected by the silent turmoil swirling around in his master's head. Hearing the crunch of approaching footsteps, she turns around just in time to catch silver-haired Hope coming to a halt.
"Here you are," he says cheerfully, appearing bright and well-rested. "Anders' directions led me true. Good morning, Coco."
She responds by taking in Hope's outward appearance gripped by a haze of silent curiosity. He's wearing ash-coloured trousers and the calf-length boots he'd brought to into Eorzea, with a close-fitting sandy shirt that is most definitely of the Shroud's make. Hope's slender frame – further reduced by recent illness – inspires in Coco the urge to present him with all manner of sweet baked delights. That would most certainly restore some measure of roundness to his diminished figure. Coco wonders on that and unconsciously stares up into those sea-green eyes, instantly falling prey to their erudite snare.
"I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?" Hope asks, seemingly uncomfortable at the lack of response. She shakes her head, feeling a momentary twinge of nerves as a man from another world smiles at her, but then his focus shifts away. "Oh, who's this?"
"His name is Choux," Coco says timidly, watching the bird's beak open into a lascivious yawn. She picks him up and sits him atop the notebook in her lap. "It's a type of Sharlayan patisserie. A puffed up pastry ball filled with fresh whipped cream."
"That sounds delicious." It takes a second to sink in and then, "I am, of course, referring to the pastry and not your pet bird." Hope clears his throat nervously and sits down beside her in Choux's vacated space, mere ilms away. He strokes a hand along one thigh, squeezing where Coco remembers that deep lateral gouge had been in Crimson Bark. "How are you feeling? And I apologise for keeping you awake so very late the night before last."
"Well-rested. I slept straight through until dinnertime the following day." Merely recalling the sprawled position she'd woken up in makes Coco's neck ache in response. She massages it with one hand and carefully passes Choux over to Hope with the other, brushing an errant dodo feather from her notebook. "He likes being stroked."
There are so many desperate questions balanced precariously on the tip of her tongue but right now she can't ask a single one. The phenomenon of Echo transference looms like an eclipse over a fat full moon, casting everything beneath it into shadow. Even the Sharlayans' capacious knowledge barely touched upon that subject. Well, in whatever material had been in the public section of the bibliotheca anyway. Perhaps they'd studied the Echo and all of its manifestations in the restricted areas, locked away behind complex magical wards and a veritable sea of paperwork. Nothing a paladin could breach, then. It would only take one of her Eorzea-loving countrymen both amenable and knowledgeable enough to help. Child's play.
Coco exhales silently through her mouth, feeling that frustration multiply with each new thought. It seems there's always an obstacle; a meddlesome plague of chigoes come to sap the vigour out of her enthusiasm. She shakes her head free of frivolous notions and begins to sketch a panorama of Yainu-Par, immersing herself into something physical.
Surprisingly, Hope doesn't interrupt. There's just the sound of water lapping against stone as it journeys on to meet the great Velodyna river further down the vale. Songbirds warble, wood ravens crow and a wooden craft lists upon its moorings, sloshing upon the current with a gentle ambiance. Coco's drawing is finally beginning to take shape. Curves and lines form soft arching strokes of the ferry's bow and a canvassed deck shaded from sunlight. Darkness pools where shadows fall and light shimmers upon metal fixings, flaring bright in reflective bursts. It's life reproduced in greyscale upon parchment paper.
"You're a talented artist," Hope says quietly, eventually breaking their silence. She stops mid-stroke and stills, not quite knowing how to acknowledge that compliment. "You seem nervous around me, Coco. You don't have to feel that way."
"And yet find myself thus." The words escape unthinkingly. Why did you say that out loud? Stupid, she bristles.
"Why though?" Hope asks, persistent in this endeavour. Coco covertly slides her gaze sideways and catches a glimpse of him stroking Choux, those fingers combing through off-white feathers. His voice continues on in a gentle tone. "Please tell me if I've ever given you cause to fear me. It's not intentional and I certainly don't want you to feel that."
Coco sighs in response, stalling. How can she possibly explain how she feels so soon after they've met? It's not like he'll understand. Not like she understands either, come to think of it. Those frozen ocean eyes outlining his obvious intelligence; that suggestion of adventures in learning they could both embark upon together. It's like being back home in Sharlayan all of those years ago, wandering the halls of the Great Gubal Library in search of something wonderful and esoteric. But then there's that countering influence of what she'd felt in his Echo. Soaked so deeply in Hope's emotions Coco isn't sure where his end and hers begin. Could this be a side-effect of the transference? Is it something much deeper and troubling?
"You're the first Pulsian I've met," she offers weakly and lays her pencil down onto the notebook's seam. "You know far more about me than I do of you and Academia. A entire world's worth if the other day is any indication of that."
Hope laughs lightly. "Indeed, though I'm well aware of my debt to you. Don't hesitate to ask any questions you may have. Failing that, I could just talk endlessly about whatever comes to mind. It's your choice, Ser Delouix."
"Please don't call me that," Coco smiles despite her nerves. "It's that unyielding middle ground between formal title and being afraid to say my actual name."
Under the blanket of silence that follows, she looks across at silver-haired Hope to see a strange expression adorning his face. Eyebrows arch upward, the faintest ghost of a smile haunts those lips and an unfocused glaze softens his eyes. He turns and regards her, initiating a tension-laden stare that lasts for several seconds.
"You're absolutely right, of course. My apologies Coco. I should have known better given my own experience." And then Hope is glancing away to the water's edge. "In Academia, my job title had been Director of Academy Research and Developmental Studies. Despite me stating otherwise, everyone would simply call me 'Director Estheim' but it sounds too impersonal, doesn't it. Almost as if people are holding you at a distance with expectation and silent demands of capability."
He looses a breathless sigh and that feeble smile turns morose. To dispel the sudden atmosphere, Coco reaches across and strokes at Choux's neck as Hope scratches between the wings. Their hands are so very close. What if they should touch again? She wonders if he even notices, or would mind. Not that the dodo would complain. No, he's far too coddled to care about an overabundance of petting.
"No formality between us then?" Coco asks in a light voice. He turns to face her and smiles warmly, not withdrawing from Choux's fluffed plumage any more than she does.
"Please. I would like that." There's a short pause and then Hope says, "So, what would you like to know?"
After a moment's thought, Coco takes the easy way out. "Everything?"
She hadn't meant it to be humorous but Hope laughs anyway. That sudden burst of happiness gladdens her Elezen heart.
"That would take a very long time," he says. "What if I told you about Academia and we go from there. Would that suffice?"
And so, sitting at Coco's side on a wooden bench by the river, Hope unfurls an entire chapter of his own history. Academia is an impossible city of metal and glass, brimming alive with a population exceeding eleven million citizens. He describes buildings so tall they'd dwarf the Observatorium in Coerthas several times over, extrapolates upon concepts so fantastical that Coco can hardly believe they're true, and paints such a beautiful picture of advanced technology that tears brim in her eyes. Pulse's surface world sounds amazing : vast sprawling meadowland dotted with mountain ranges and deep gorges, sheer cliffs and outpourings of life bursting forth where rivers meet. Just like the Dravanian hinterlands Coco knows so well.
Although Hope's innocent lessons soon begin to unravel the very foundations of Sharlayan knowledge with a terrifying precision. Life can definitely exist without aether, Hydaelyn isn't a star but a 'planet' and the Void isn't at all unique to Coco's world. Sunshine and alchemy can power machines made to sustain bigger, even more powerful devices that provide energy for a whole city. On and on Hope weaves his otherworldly truths, shattering what this one paladin had been taught since childhood. All she can do is listen, hungrily absorbing every word like a dehydrated sponge.
Morning quickly merges into afternoon. Coco sits beside Hope and stares out across the water, rapt with information overload. She can't help but wonder what would have happened to this man had she not found him in Crimson Bark. All of this miraculous knowledge would have died along with him, bleeding out onto the cold stone riverbed like those haunting dark dreams had threatened. Swallowing the thick lump in her throat she aches for a fully-controllable Echo power, desperate to delve into Hope's memories and see Academia for herself. If only heartfelt wishes could come true.
"Is everything okay, Coco?" Hope eventually asks, apparently trying to coax her into responding. He's gazing down at Choux and stroking the dodo's flanks with a slow circular rhythm of both thumbs. Late afternoon sunshine slices through the haze lingering just above the lake's surface now. A beautiful balmy spring day in the Lavender Beds and they'd spent most of it in a one-sided conversation. When Coco still doesn't reply, Hope turns to her and frowns with open concern.
"Feeling overwhelmed?" he muses. She nods lethargically and loses herself in those aquatic eyes once more. Hope is a real person from another world – a living miracle who owes his continued existence to a pair of simple Eorzean women. There's no way Coco can begin to imagine how Hope feels or what he'd lost if half of those stories are true. What could she say?
"I'm glad we rescued you though." Understated yet true. Even those words sound like platitude.
"So am I," he chuckles. "I can never repay you for that, can I?" She shakes her head, determined that a paladin's oath prevents recompense for such matters. "I sort of understand how you feel, thrown in at the deep end like this. But I can't get over how many similarities our worlds share. Chocobos, elemental magic, our pantheon and separate history based upon crystal." A dramatic pause and then, "Not even mentioning the ravenous beasts that would eat us alive … "
"Coffee too. Don't forget that." Coco smiles at Hope.
"No, of course not. I was saving the best part until last." They gaze at each other, the lull in conversation a welcome break.
Well aware of these hot and cold streaks running through her, she doesn't quite know how to feel. What Hope encapsulates makes her nervous but the draw of intellectualism is hard to resist. There's something about his personality – so calm and pleasant despite his dire situation – that makes her want to spend time with him; to learn from him, to teach him about Eorzea. If the situation had been reversed, Coco knows for sure she wouldn't be able to cope like he is managing to.
"Thank you," Hope is saying quietly, "For making it much easier. Everyone has been so generous and – "
"Serpent Lieutenant Delouix?" The sudden voice belongs to an Adders runner dressed in black and yellow – a young Duskwight man of around twenty summers. "I have an urgent message for you. Pray visit the Adders' Nest at your earliest convenience. Serpent Marshal Jannice wishes to discuss your recent endeavour in Limsa Lominsa." A curt bow and he's speeding away up the path, presumably to deliver more messages to Lavender Beds residents.
"You're a lieutenant too? Are you absolutely sure I shouldn't call you Ser Delouix?" Hope teases, almost grinning. He laughs softly at the ensuing scowl then, "If you'd like we can speak whenever you return. I'm sure you have more to ask."
Coco stands and stretches. Her legs are stiff after being seated so very long. She recalls something her grandfather had told her long ago : "Don't ever let opportunity escape, my dear. Snatch it. Grab onto it possessively and claim it as your own."
Her beloved Sylvain Delouix. If only he could be here to offer counsel on this tangled mess. Coco has no doubt at all that grandfather would be able to handle it much better than she had, tossed this way and that by emotions. What is she going to do now? The default option would be to leave and abandon Hope here at the lakeside, but perhaps there's another way.
"Care to join me?" she asks timidly, surprised at her own boldness. Those sea-green eyes widen and she worries, thinking perhaps there's been some confusion. Continuing on quickly Coco explains, "I mean, there should be enough time after the meeting for a tour around Gridania. It's almost sundown, but at least we can explore a little. And chat on the ferry."
"Of course. I would like that," Hope says as he rises from the bench. Sunlight falls across his hair and incandescence catches those striations like sunshine on water. Such an unusual metallic hue, falling in short layered curves around his face and framing those articulate features. It only reminds Coco of how unique he is – this man from an impossible world.
Perhaps he's correct and she needn't be so nervous around him, but instincts caution otherwise. She can't ignore that prevalent thread of fate pulling her towards Hope. It's stark and worrisome; reminiscent of pre-Calamity when Dalamud had grown closer to Eorzea with each passing day.
