stars bear witness
Zenos does not speak.
Despite the stiff ocean breeze whipping about the sails along with the hair of all passengers aboard, he feels stifled, the hood firmly hooked over his head trapping the heat. He dares not remove it, however; it would expose his face to the others, and he cannot risk being found. "Not yet, at least," the champion had explained upon their boarding of the seafaring vessel.
Even if the Miqo'te had not asked him to hide himself away, Zenos likely would have anyway. Hiding his disgust for the sights and sounds of common seafaring is far too much effort to warrant any pleasantries.
The footsteps of sailors and other passengers thump around the deck ceaselessly, despite having already established a course into the horizon. Zenos tunes out the endless activity. His thoughts race a malm a minute in a manner he does not remember ever experiencing before in his life. Studying at Garlean academies, training in manners of politics and subterfuge, working to understand the factions of power across Hydaelyn… nothing had ever swayed him as such.
Yet, unbeknownst to his travelling companion, he cannot stop thinking about the tale he had been told upon boarding the boat. It is unbelievable, in all honesty. He wants to say it is naught but lies, and yet, he cannot find any fault with the Warrior of Light for his surreal tale.
Not surreal, per se. More like… inane.
The word is sour upon his tongue despite never having passed through his lips. Would it not be an insult to utter that thought into reality when facing his only comrade?
Through the rim of his hood, Zenos takes in the sight of the Warrior of Light. The one man who has ever managed to best him sits naught but a few yalms away, and yet, his aura could not be more different than Zenos' own. Upon boarding the vessel, the Miqo'te had happily taken a seat on the other side of the deck, basking in the sunlight. His long, pointed ears flick lazily, chestnut hair reddish and shining to the point of near magenta. Warm brown eyes are creased in happiness at every passerby, the man taking the time to greet each of the passengers who stop to gawk at the humble creature. And, as he speaks to the others aboard, the man's gloved hands do not ever stop moving. The Eorzean champion works not to polish his weapons or take inventory of his tools, however.
The man is making a wire sculpture.
Unsure of where to even begin unpacking that, Zenos' vacant eyes look back over the edge of the boat. Thavnair is naught but a blip on the horizon after so many hours at sea, but he feels as if he is still trapped in the stifling heat, the heady spiced scents, the salty brines and drying fishes of the markets in Yedlihmad. His tongue swipes over his tongue. It is salty from the sea air, but he can still taste the faint traces of turmeric and cumin upon the corners of his lips.
"The first time we came here," the Warrior of Light had explained before they had even boarded, "it was through aetheryte."
"That would be preferable to sea travel," had been the Garlean's quip.
Somehow, this had triggered a wry chuckle from the shorter man as he haded Zenos a small pressed sandwich from a street stall vendor by the Yedlimahd docks. "It was through aetheryte. You should be happy that we're not going by way of that straight to Sharlayan."
"And why not?" Zenos had frowned, his mind searching for possible reasons. Did the aether carry them to a less-than-ideal landing point? Was the adjoining current too weak to carry them all the way? Would they have to go through more intense scrutiny on the other side?
Feline eyes rolled. "Those bushes over there?" He had pointed over to the hedges lining one of the vibrant pink clay walls of a local's home.
"Yes…?"
"We rematerialized and immediately upended our stomachs in those bushes."
"...oh."
"Violently," was the nonchalant addition. Then, with a bright smile, the Miqo'te took a bite of his sandwich. "Then our comrade tried to spend all our coin on a swindler's stall."
"I… see."
Without missing a beat, he had taken another bite. "The true life of adventuring on Etheirys, Zen- watching our purses. I do employ retainers, but they know better than to buy without haggling." And with that, the man had walked away, long, thick tail swishing lazily through the sea breeze.
The spices from the sandwich had made Zenos' eyes sting. He still tastes it on the back of his tongue, even now. Food should be fuel- this lingering scent is foul. Why the other man had enjoyed it so, he does not know.
Thus, they are here aboard this blasted ship. The more Zenos leans his back against the wall of the passenger ship, the waves rocking the boat gently along its path, his eyes locked on the Eorzean champion's movements from through thick blond lashes, the more his stomach sinks into the pit of his gut, heavy, leaden. The other man pays no heed, continuing to use pliers pulled from yet another one of his pouches to twist and tie shimmering metal wires into delicate filigree. Does he know metalwork? Why would he know artisanal skills?
The memory of the shorter man panting in exhaustion after assisting the Hannish merchants flits across his mind. He had become the Warrior of Light through odd jobs and favours, the warrior himself had insisted.
…had his words been true?
A few hours later, however, his mind has still not found an answer. The only true change arrives near nightfall. Before he even recognizes the shift, the Miqo'te stands by his side. Without a word, he offers dried fruits and jerky from his stores, which Zenos takes wordlessly. Then, he sits a few yalms down the side of the deck by the blond, chewing silently on his own.
Zenos swallows the rations. The cloying sweetness does not mask the spice, even now. "Are you finished your… task?"
Long ears flick back in astonishment, matching wide eyes framed by dark hair and classic Seeker markings. Clearing his throat, the Eorzean champion nods after a moment. "Indeed," he murmurs, fishing around his pocket before withdrawing his hand. He pauses, then shakes his head as if coming to terms with something.
Pale blue eyes watch as the setting sun reflects off of a tiny wire-sculpted moogle figurine. "What in the world is that?" he asks flatly.
The Warrior of Light shrugs, carefully retrieving and stashing his day's work away once again. "It's part of a favour for a friend," he replies. "The children at the orphanage like trinkets like this, so I bring them whenever Zhloe needs them."
"Orphanage?"
An awkward chuckle slips from the Miqo'te's lips. "Yeah. It's in Idyllshire."
Zenos sucks in a deep breath, his fingers clenching into fists upon his knees in time with the curling of his upper lip. This ship is going to Limsa Lominsa. Just how far does he plan on voyaging on foot, if we are to head into the depths of Dravania?
These questions would betray his knowledge of Eorzea and their current situation, however, so he swallows down each and every thought with another bite of dried aldergoat and currants.
Despite the automatic disgust welling up from his core, the Garlean finds himself strangely drawn to looking back up at the Miqo'te. "You really do go out of your way, if you're supporting orphanages. Do you ever train?"
The Miqo'te leans his head back against the walls of the boat, closing his eyes. He does not say a word, but the smile upon his lips betrays his amusement.
Zenos finds no answers that night. However, if Idyllshire shall be their destination, then…
I suppose I will have ample time to find out.