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alchemist_aliceTitle: Sizing Up the Opposition
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Prompt: Physical Imperfections
Medium: Fic
Size: 1793 Words
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary/Preview: Foulques's hand-picked trainee accidentally happens upon him during his early routine beneath a waterfall near Lifemend Stump, and as she tries to be stealthy and get away, he calls her out on gawking at him and finally takes stock of her as well.
Notes: Spoilers for the Lancer's route in FFXIV. Set just before the Lance of Destiny quest.
The beauty obscured beneath the vast expanse of the Black Shroud still continues to fascinate the young lancer as she strolls along the cobblestone paths in search of clarity. The offer made to her but a few nights ago is still fresh in her mind, and she would hold fast to the loyalty that binds her to Master Ywain's side, but something resonates with the other lancer 'mentoring' her.
"It is folly to trail in his footsteps," Ywain warned her.
Follow she would not, but like her newfound forest home, something about the Duskwight has her curiosity piqued. Case in point, she thinks, is his reasoning behind wanting to see the guild shamed so. It holds great standing among the low sect of Gridania and the Wood Wailers recruit some of their finest from its graduating ranks, so she couldn't understand why Foulques detested it so.
Did he have an issue with authority?
It wracks her brain as she saunters aimlessly down the path, having already completed her morning regimen of training, and when a twig snapping alerts her, she quickly turns her head in the direction of the sound and catches sight of something she never imagined she'd have the chance of seeing, given the Elezen involved that is.
Beneath the waterfall veiling the entrance to Lifemend Stump stands a figure most familiar to her, but absent of the scale armor that covered him. With his back to her, she could make out dark lesions laid bare across his skin, a veritable map of battles and experience. It's a sight that she knows she shouldn't be openly gawking at, but it's such a shock and a rarity that she can't pull her gaze away from him.
Wrestling with her childish curiosity, she forces herself behind the trunk of a mighty oak nearby to catch her breath. More questions piled onto the growing mountain as she resisted the urge to greet him or just intrude to ask about the scars between his shoulder blades. Swallowing her heart that has leaped into her throat, she takes a cautious step forward, intent upon leaving without a word, and the twig that fell from the tree earlier crunches beneath her boot.
"Leaving so soon?"
Her body tenses up and she's frozen into place with guilt. "I-I apologize for the intrusion, but it wasn't intentional; I'll just leave you to your --"
"And pass up the opportunity to have some of your gnawing questions answered?" asks Foulques, rounding the oak trunk with his spear in hand. "That doesn't seem like you, trainee."
Serafi turns to him with a grimace. "I really should be going."
"I doubt you have anywhere to be at this very moment," Foulques replaces his weapon in the slot provided by the belt strapped around his chest. "Have you eaten? Come, join me."
Her fists clench and relax several times before she finds the gumption to spin on her heels and follow him back to the river where a campfire awaits with meat roasting on a makeshift spit. Foulques lifts the searing spit from the flames without so much as a flinch, moving to set it against the trunk of a nearby tree to cool for a moment.
"Curious about my scars?" he presses, not bothering to look back at her as he speaks. "Or is it the lack of reasoning your craven Guild Master mentioned that has you so anxious?"
"I am torn between two Masters," Serafi admits at length, finally demanding his attention as he jerks his head to glance over his shoulder at her. "I know not which path to take, either."
A smile thins his lips as he pulls meat from the spit and offers it to her. "My instincts are never amiss; I knew I saw untapped potential within you that day I turned my spear upon you. Alack, for that potential is squandered so long as you remain at Ywain's side."
"You did abduct and threaten a member of the Guild, though," Serafi pipes up, taking the sustenance offered to her with a wince because of how hot it still is, prompting a chuckle from Foulques. "I don't see what that has to do with your self-imposed credo of courage."
"Would Ywain have sent you to me had I asked in a more civilized manner?" Foulques rebuts with a quirk of his brow. "I think not, trainee."
Serafi's shoulders slump and she finally speaks up, "I have a name, you know."
"Yes, we're all aware," Foulques smarts back at her, turning his back again as he fetches a few handkerchiefs from his bag and drops one in her lap. "You also have yet to acknowledge me as your one true Master, though, so when you do then I shall call you by your given name."
There's nothing dainty about the way the Hyuran woman scarfs down her food, Foulques notices with a snort, and she turns to glower up at him with a bit of fat oozing from her lips, cheeks stuffed full of meat.
"For all a woman's charms, I'm afraid that you possess very few," Foulques remarks as he settles onto a stump near the campfire and tears a hunk away from the roasted haunch in his hands. "Not once have you succumbed to praise or displayed any trace of poise."
Serafi swallows the wad of chewed meat in her mouth and purses her lips. "Your point being?"
"Nothing," Foulques says with a shrug, taking another bite. "What with you gawking at me earlier, I thought you'd turn out to be some blushing, stammering maid."
There's no denying that she stared openly at him as he meditated beneath the roar of the waterfall, but her stomach turns with the thoughts that she feels impressed that he actually caught on to her presence in spite of the roar around him and the fact that she found him remotely attractive.
"It wasn't a sight I expected to see while casually strolling along the forest floor, no," she drones, eyes narrowed. "Hence my surprise when I happened upon you."
Foulques has already chewed his haunch down to the bone and he drops it to the ground in favor of leaning on his fist, supported by his knee, as he grins back at her as smug as can be. "It should also be noted that you're still staring at me, possibly taking stock of me, hm?"
"Do you want me to come out and admit that you're some dashing rogue?" Serafi can feel blood pooling into her cheeks, but she couldn't care less at this point. Foulques wouldn't stop persisting until she laid this to rest, so she decides to run the gauntlet then and there. "That, maybe, yes; I was staring at you and I still am, that I'm very curious about those lesions on your back, and that you're a scummy bastard for implying anything further than that? Is that what you want?"
Standing to his feet again, Foulques says nothing ad circles around her, openly studying her. All of the spunk that Serafi spouted a moment ago exits through her feet, it seems like, and her legs start to quiver as he rounds her a third time and stops in front of her.
"What?" she croaks, dropping the bone of her breakfast to the grass.
"You're short for a woman," Foulques notes, stroking his chin. "The fiery hue of your hair certainly matches your temper, which you should learn to better keep in check."
She jumps to her feet. "Who are you to lecture me on temperament?"
"Your Master and mentor, love," Foulques teases with a grin, "and don't interrupt; it's rude."
After a few more times circling her, Serafi plants her hands on her hips and looks him in the eyes as he stops. "Are you through?"
"It's amazing that you can wield a spear the way you do, but I suppose that your small frame and features are an advantage because enemies oft underestimate you." His eyes skim along the subtle curvature of muscle along her arms and trail down her abdomen until he catches sight of her legs, quite exposed beneath the waist wrap and tabard she wears. "Your figure is comely enough, but your bosom leaves much to be desired with how small they are."
Hoof beats drum in Serafi's ears and she has to dig into her own sides to keep herself from crossing her arms over her breasts (that apparently aren't there, according to Foulques.)
"These are charming, though," he says, reaching down to take her face in hand and lift it so that she's looking at him instead of the dirt beneath her boots. "You don't see many Hyur left with freckles so bright. Spend a lot of time in the sun as a girl, did you?"
"I grew up on a Chocobo Ranch, so I did spend most of my time outdoors," she answers, almost feeling obligated to do so as he releases her. "My father retired from military service to the Sultanate of U'ldah and 'twas he who inspired me to take up the lance."
Foulques laughs. "I didn't ask for your's life's story."
Feeling a little more emboldened, she finally asks, "What's the story behind those scars?"
"Countless battles and betrayals," Foulques says in a dangerously low tone of voice, leaning against a tree trunk with his arms folded across his broad chest. "A story for another time, perhaps."
Betrayals?
Serafi stops herself from pursuing the matter any further, in spite of curiosity egging her on. She draws her weapon instead and plants it firmly in the ground before changing the subject to one that inclines more towards his interests as her self-proclaimed Master.
"I don't think my morning routines are enough to keep me sharp anymore," she says, watching his countenance carefully. "Care to take the measure of my lance against your own, Master?"
Foulques's eyes widen just a bit, a brief warmth leaps across them and she glimpses the man within, wanting and exhausted in his efforts. He flashes a grin back at her and pulls his own lance from his back, twirling it at the center as he gestures for her to follow him.
"Very well," he shouts to her as they near a clearing, "let us see what you have learned in your short time as my trainee, Serafi."
Grinning right back at him, Serafi assumes her stance and pushes off the ground with her heel, charging at him with her lance forward. Something exciting pulsates within her as steel clashes and sparks fly, and she recalls the first time sparring with her father, and the joy that the thrill of battle brought her.
She just hopes that someday, Foulques could feel the same.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Prompt: Physical Imperfections
Medium: Fic
Size: 1793 Words
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary/Preview: Foulques's hand-picked trainee accidentally happens upon him during his early routine beneath a waterfall near Lifemend Stump, and as she tries to be stealthy and get away, he calls her out on gawking at him and finally takes stock of her as well.
Notes: Spoilers for the Lancer's route in FFXIV. Set just before the Lance of Destiny quest.
The beauty obscured beneath the vast expanse of the Black Shroud still continues to fascinate the young lancer as she strolls along the cobblestone paths in search of clarity. The offer made to her but a few nights ago is still fresh in her mind, and she would hold fast to the loyalty that binds her to Master Ywain's side, but something resonates with the other lancer 'mentoring' her.
"It is folly to trail in his footsteps," Ywain warned her.
Follow she would not, but like her newfound forest home, something about the Duskwight has her curiosity piqued. Case in point, she thinks, is his reasoning behind wanting to see the guild shamed so. It holds great standing among the low sect of Gridania and the Wood Wailers recruit some of their finest from its graduating ranks, so she couldn't understand why Foulques detested it so.
Did he have an issue with authority?
It wracks her brain as she saunters aimlessly down the path, having already completed her morning regimen of training, and when a twig snapping alerts her, she quickly turns her head in the direction of the sound and catches sight of something she never imagined she'd have the chance of seeing, given the Elezen involved that is.
Beneath the waterfall veiling the entrance to Lifemend Stump stands a figure most familiar to her, but absent of the scale armor that covered him. With his back to her, she could make out dark lesions laid bare across his skin, a veritable map of battles and experience. It's a sight that she knows she shouldn't be openly gawking at, but it's such a shock and a rarity that she can't pull her gaze away from him.
Wrestling with her childish curiosity, she forces herself behind the trunk of a mighty oak nearby to catch her breath. More questions piled onto the growing mountain as she resisted the urge to greet him or just intrude to ask about the scars between his shoulder blades. Swallowing her heart that has leaped into her throat, she takes a cautious step forward, intent upon leaving without a word, and the twig that fell from the tree earlier crunches beneath her boot.
"Leaving so soon?"
Her body tenses up and she's frozen into place with guilt. "I-I apologize for the intrusion, but it wasn't intentional; I'll just leave you to your --"
"And pass up the opportunity to have some of your gnawing questions answered?" asks Foulques, rounding the oak trunk with his spear in hand. "That doesn't seem like you, trainee."
Serafi turns to him with a grimace. "I really should be going."
"I doubt you have anywhere to be at this very moment," Foulques replaces his weapon in the slot provided by the belt strapped around his chest. "Have you eaten? Come, join me."
Her fists clench and relax several times before she finds the gumption to spin on her heels and follow him back to the river where a campfire awaits with meat roasting on a makeshift spit. Foulques lifts the searing spit from the flames without so much as a flinch, moving to set it against the trunk of a nearby tree to cool for a moment.
"Curious about my scars?" he presses, not bothering to look back at her as he speaks. "Or is it the lack of reasoning your craven Guild Master mentioned that has you so anxious?"
"I am torn between two Masters," Serafi admits at length, finally demanding his attention as he jerks his head to glance over his shoulder at her. "I know not which path to take, either."
A smile thins his lips as he pulls meat from the spit and offers it to her. "My instincts are never amiss; I knew I saw untapped potential within you that day I turned my spear upon you. Alack, for that potential is squandered so long as you remain at Ywain's side."
"You did abduct and threaten a member of the Guild, though," Serafi pipes up, taking the sustenance offered to her with a wince because of how hot it still is, prompting a chuckle from Foulques. "I don't see what that has to do with your self-imposed credo of courage."
"Would Ywain have sent you to me had I asked in a more civilized manner?" Foulques rebuts with a quirk of his brow. "I think not, trainee."
Serafi's shoulders slump and she finally speaks up, "I have a name, you know."
"Yes, we're all aware," Foulques smarts back at her, turning his back again as he fetches a few handkerchiefs from his bag and drops one in her lap. "You also have yet to acknowledge me as your one true Master, though, so when you do then I shall call you by your given name."
There's nothing dainty about the way the Hyuran woman scarfs down her food, Foulques notices with a snort, and she turns to glower up at him with a bit of fat oozing from her lips, cheeks stuffed full of meat.
"For all a woman's charms, I'm afraid that you possess very few," Foulques remarks as he settles onto a stump near the campfire and tears a hunk away from the roasted haunch in his hands. "Not once have you succumbed to praise or displayed any trace of poise."
Serafi swallows the wad of chewed meat in her mouth and purses her lips. "Your point being?"
"Nothing," Foulques says with a shrug, taking another bite. "What with you gawking at me earlier, I thought you'd turn out to be some blushing, stammering maid."
There's no denying that she stared openly at him as he meditated beneath the roar of the waterfall, but her stomach turns with the thoughts that she feels impressed that he actually caught on to her presence in spite of the roar around him and the fact that she found him remotely attractive.
"It wasn't a sight I expected to see while casually strolling along the forest floor, no," she drones, eyes narrowed. "Hence my surprise when I happened upon you."
Foulques has already chewed his haunch down to the bone and he drops it to the ground in favor of leaning on his fist, supported by his knee, as he grins back at her as smug as can be. "It should also be noted that you're still staring at me, possibly taking stock of me, hm?"
"Do you want me to come out and admit that you're some dashing rogue?" Serafi can feel blood pooling into her cheeks, but she couldn't care less at this point. Foulques wouldn't stop persisting until she laid this to rest, so she decides to run the gauntlet then and there. "That, maybe, yes; I was staring at you and I still am, that I'm very curious about those lesions on your back, and that you're a scummy bastard for implying anything further than that? Is that what you want?"
Standing to his feet again, Foulques says nothing ad circles around her, openly studying her. All of the spunk that Serafi spouted a moment ago exits through her feet, it seems like, and her legs start to quiver as he rounds her a third time and stops in front of her.
"What?" she croaks, dropping the bone of her breakfast to the grass.
"You're short for a woman," Foulques notes, stroking his chin. "The fiery hue of your hair certainly matches your temper, which you should learn to better keep in check."
She jumps to her feet. "Who are you to lecture me on temperament?"
"Your Master and mentor, love," Foulques teases with a grin, "and don't interrupt; it's rude."
After a few more times circling her, Serafi plants her hands on her hips and looks him in the eyes as he stops. "Are you through?"
"It's amazing that you can wield a spear the way you do, but I suppose that your small frame and features are an advantage because enemies oft underestimate you." His eyes skim along the subtle curvature of muscle along her arms and trail down her abdomen until he catches sight of her legs, quite exposed beneath the waist wrap and tabard she wears. "Your figure is comely enough, but your bosom leaves much to be desired with how small they are."
Hoof beats drum in Serafi's ears and she has to dig into her own sides to keep herself from crossing her arms over her breasts (that apparently aren't there, according to Foulques.)
"These are charming, though," he says, reaching down to take her face in hand and lift it so that she's looking at him instead of the dirt beneath her boots. "You don't see many Hyur left with freckles so bright. Spend a lot of time in the sun as a girl, did you?"
"I grew up on a Chocobo Ranch, so I did spend most of my time outdoors," she answers, almost feeling obligated to do so as he releases her. "My father retired from military service to the Sultanate of U'ldah and 'twas he who inspired me to take up the lance."
Foulques laughs. "I didn't ask for your's life's story."
Feeling a little more emboldened, she finally asks, "What's the story behind those scars?"
"Countless battles and betrayals," Foulques says in a dangerously low tone of voice, leaning against a tree trunk with his arms folded across his broad chest. "A story for another time, perhaps."
Betrayals?
Serafi stops herself from pursuing the matter any further, in spite of curiosity egging her on. She draws her weapon instead and plants it firmly in the ground before changing the subject to one that inclines more towards his interests as her self-proclaimed Master.
"I don't think my morning routines are enough to keep me sharp anymore," she says, watching his countenance carefully. "Care to take the measure of my lance against your own, Master?"
Foulques's eyes widen just a bit, a brief warmth leaps across them and she glimpses the man within, wanting and exhausted in his efforts. He flashes a grin back at her and pulls his own lance from his back, twirling it at the center as he gestures for her to follow him.
"Very well," he shouts to her as they near a clearing, "let us see what you have learned in your short time as my trainee, Serafi."
Grinning right back at him, Serafi assumes her stance and pushes off the ground with her heel, charging at him with her lance forward. Something exciting pulsates within her as steel clashes and sparks fly, and she recalls the first time sparring with her father, and the joy that the thrill of battle brought her.
She just hopes that someday, Foulques could feel the same.
