Disclaimer: I don't own Bravely Default, all rights to the owners.
I don't know how to articulate what I enjoyed about the short detour to the Yulyana woods in chapter 1. Maybe it's because of the very slight Tiz/Agnès in some of the scenes (because I am a complete sucker for any sort of romance). I barely have an idea of what I want to write here, I just know I want to write something.
That said, this is a Ringabel chapter.
The sage, Ringabel quickly decides, is a thoroughly fascinating man.
That beginnings of that thought stir in his mind when he first sees the man's abode. A small, humble, surprisingly tidy, open-air house nestled next to a picturesque stream and mostly hidden by tall trees. A well-maintained and stylishly-carved little bridge allows travel across said stream and to a large garden of various brightly coloured flowers and a small outside hut that, upon investigation (despite Agnès' protests) is revealed to house domestic silkworms.
Plants for dyes and silkworms for silk. The sage is a tailor that produces his own materials it seems!
After Edea is done dragging him out of the silkworm hut by his ear ("Ow, ow, Edea, that hurts-! I was only looking!") they cross the fine bridge to the front entrance of the house, and after a moment's hesitation, lovely Edea calls out with her usual politeness and tact. "Hey! Is anyone here!? We're looking for a sage! An old guy!"
Truely, his angel has a way with words.
"Oh-ho! I thought I heard something. I fear this place draws few visitors, and me fewer still." A chipper, if slightly creaky voice, says from inside of the rooms of the house. A tiny man with a tall staff of which the head is shaped like a tailor's distaff with a ball of thread tied around the center of that head shuffles into sight. He wears absolutely fabulous clothes, bright and colorful and clearly of high quality, and Ringabel is immediately impressed. He can always appreciate good clothes. "To whom do I owe the pleasure of such sightly company?"
Ringabel likes him already. The man might shuffle, but it's with dignity, and his hands adjust his robes and move on his staff with the precision and sureness of a practiced spellcaster.
(What an odd thought. How does he know spellcasters move?)
"I am Agnès Oblige, sir, the Vestal of Wind." Agnès says. She bows politely to the man.
"Little Agnès is it? Ho ho ho! You were scarce more than a sprout when your predecessor brought you here!" The sage says. His wrinkled lips and eyes creak into a happy smile, and he starts stroking his long grey beard as he speaks. "How you have grown! And a fine young woman you've become! Yes, quite a fine and plump and, might I say, pleasantly jiggly young woman indeed, ho ho ho…"
Ringabel holds his chin and nods sagely at the sage's most accurate assessment. His companions take issue with it however, despite the accuracy. Agnès blinks slowly in what Ringabel suspects is mute shock, Edea growls and curls her lip, and Tiz crosses his arms silently and shifts just a bit closer to Agnès, hovering protectively behind her shoulder. He's not quite glaring, Tiz is too polite for that, but his brow is furrowed in restrained disapproval.
Ringabel can't understand why, the old sage is simply stating an objectively true fact, but his companions have always had the strangest sensibilities.
"Lovely. A geriatric Ringabel." Edea growls. Edea's tone not withstanding, Ringabel will take being likened to such a wise and observant and cultured man as a compliment. Clearly the sage lives up to his title.
Agnès quickly recovers from her shock and mostly ignores the sage's comment. "Then you are indeed the sage I seek. I'm afraid I don't remember your name, sir."
"Oh, we are much alike in that, my dear." The sage says. He tilts his head in thought, tapping his staff on the ground as he does so. "There are none who do… myself included. I can't remember it myself. It's been so long since it mattered. Simply 'Sage' will do fine by me. That's what the last vestal chose to call me. You too, when you were here last. Though it was more of a 'Thage! Thage!' in the most charming little echo I've ever heard."
"Well I'm glad to have found you." Agnès sighs in relief.
"And I'm glad to be found! Especially by such a pretty young thing and her handsome companions." The sage chuckles. "Seems I've not quite lost my charm."
"I am not handsome. Do I look like a boy?" Edea grumbles under her breath, and Ringabel bites his tongue from disagreeing. He would argue his angel's strength and well-placed muscle is more than enough to constitute 'handsome', but perhaps she would prefer a more conventional compliment.
He'll have to remember that for the future.
"You called yourself vestal, so I take it the last vestal has…?"
"Retired five years ago." Agnès confirms. Then, with a moment's hesitation, a softer voice, and a bow, adds. "Her life, a year later."
"I… see." The sage murmurs, his own head dipping. "A sad loss for all of us. Your predecessor was fair, but firm. Very firm. Taut curves to drive a man mad, she had…"
Ringabel can't help but speak before the inevitable groaning from Edea starts. "We shall be needing an in-depth account, good sage. Also, a briefing on any wild women of the woods."
Edea rounds on him. "Stop talking, just… stop. Do you have no respect? We're talking about a dead woman here."
"All the more reason we should remember her by speaking of her! Preferably in exact, vivid detail." Ringabel counters.
Edea makes a face and doesn't deign to spare him another word.
"Quite the following you've gathered my dear." The sage notes, finally casting his gaze up to the rest of the group. His eyes linger on each of them for several seconds, taking them in one by one. Ringabel adds to his own first impression with a sweeping bow, and the Sage's eyes once again crinkle in amusement. "I thought the vestal forswore all contact with the outside world."
"Under normal circumstances, yes." Agnès acknowledges. "They are… they are assisting me with my task."
"Oh, 'assistants', eh? I see." The sage chuckles. "And what colorful characters they are. Please, please, come inside. I've kept you out here long enough. I would quite like to hear what brought you here."
Ringabel allows everyone else to step inside before him, and casts his gaze around the house as he enters. He spies a mannequin and a rack of half-finished dresses next to a workstation filled with needles and thread and scissors just a bit to the left, a room with the door slightly opened that seems to house even more dresses further to the left, and a room of bunk beds to the right.
The sage seems preoccupied with talking to and looking at Agnès (truly understandable, the vestal is quite the sight) so Ringabel takes the liberty of slipping inside the room with the dresses to search for the rainbow thread. He won't take anything without permission of course, he just wants to smooth the process of having the vestal garb made… and if he gets to see some fine dresses in the process, well, that's simply a bonus, isn't it?
As much as it would be amusing to stand back and watch Tiz simmer in subtle irritation as the Sage continues to blatantly flirt with Agnès while she tries to tell her story (it will be good for the boy to have a taste of competition to spur him into action, even if the competition stands absolutely no chance. Ringabel knows competition can invigorate a man, having been on the receiving end of anger from some angry boyfriends during his escapades) Ringabel simply can't resist the allure of the- erm, of being useful and finding the thread, of course. Perhaps it's hidden behind this wonderfully smooth, shiny, silky piece clearly meant for a woman of quite the hourglass shape…
The craftsmanship is also quite impressive. As an artist, albeit of a different kind (he's much more partial to drawing), Ringabel can genuinely appreciate the work put into the dresses, even more so because he can imagine the sort of fine women needed to properly fill each one.
If it wasn't clear from the Sage's attention to Agnès, it is obvious to Ringabel now that the Sage really does have exquisite taste, both in fashion and in women. A man after his own heart! He simply must find the opportunity to converse with the man at length. After months of having only Tiz for male conversation (and what a kind, respectful boy he is, of course, but the two of them sadly can't relate on some key matters) Ringabel is most eager to have someone more similar in interests to talk with.
At some point, Ringabel simply can't contain how impressed he is and steps out of the room. "Absolutely astonishing!"
"Huh? What?" Tiz blinks, startled by Ringabel's sudden cry.
"Ringabel, were you snooping again?" Edea groans, but Ringabel refuses to be deterred.
"I took the liberty of sneaking a peek at the ladies' fashions you assembled in the next room, good sir." Ringabel says, addressing the sage. "Why, each is a beauty fit to outshine the sun! They practically had me spellbound! Spellbound I tell you!"
Tiz silently brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose while Agnès purses her lips in disapproval and Edea rolls her eyes up to the sky along with her head. The sage, however, smiles all the wider.
"Ho ho! I'm impressed a man of your scant years can properly appreciate them!" The sage says. Obvious delight dances in his eyes.
"I would gladly talk the night away with a man of your genius." Ringabel says, giving another sweeping bow.
"And I will gladly abide!" The sage smiles. "Why, I haven't talked with a like-minded soul in many years. I can hardly pass up such a golden opportunity!"
"They're a matched pair…" Edea says in faint disbelief. Tiz just looks defeated, and Agnès is clutching her pendant very firmly while muttering what he thinks are prayers, though the only thing he catches is "please save this man from his sins…"
"Hardly sins, dear vestal. Simply a refined, mature interest in the finer side of life and love." Ringabel thinks. "You three will learn in time."
At least, he hopes they will. Edea is terribly resistant, and Tiz and Agnès twice shy and twice oblivious with not a shred of romantic experience between them. Hmm, perhaps he needs to find a way to nudge them along. He can hardly let their utter inexperience ruin their obvious closeness. What sort of friend would he be if he did?
That's for another time though. For now, he must pick the mind of a man of absolutely unquestionable character and exquisite taste. Why, he feels giddy just thinking about it.
I have some things I could say about this chapter, but nothing I really care to beyond that writing from Ringabel's POV was a weird experience. Not bad, or even hard, just… weird.