FFxivWrite2021

[svirdilu]

Total written: 3 (2 unscreened) prompts, 2071 words

Am I doing this super late? Oh definitely. Am I gonna try to get through a good chunk of prompts on my own time anyway? Hell yea
Prompt #4: Baleful
Prompt #5: (You pick!)
Prompt #6: Avatar
Prompt #7: Speculate
Prompt #8: Adroit
Prompt #9: Friable
Prompt #10: Heady
Prompt #11: Preaching to the Choir
Prompt #12: (you pick!)
Prompt #13: Oneirophrenia
Prompt #14: Commend
Prompt #15: Thunderous
Prompt #16: Crane
Prompt #17: Destruct
Prompt #18: Devil’s Advocate
Prompt #19: (you pick!)
Prompt #20: Petrichor
Prompt #21: Feckless
Prompt #22: Fluster
Prompt #23: Soul
Prompt #24: Illustrious
Prompt #25: Silver Lining
Prompt #26: (you pick!)
Prompt #27: Benthos
Prompt #28: Bow
Prompt #29: Debonair
Prompt #30: Abstracted

Comments

1 - Foster (Raised-in-Garlemald AU)

[lightparty]

"Little Tiberia will miss you," Decimus says, reaching out to adjust Venatus' lapels again. For the who-knows-what time today.

Ven bears it with his usual half-smile, brushing off his father's hands after a few seconds. It's nothing his father hasn't said before, either: translation, 'I'll miss you too.' But Ven's always got the feeling Decimus is torn between worry for him... and relief that Ven's following the most traditional route for a proper Garlean citizen - military service, contributing back to the empire. It makes things... easier. Nobody can complain about a Senator adopting someone from one of the less civilized races, giving them a free ride to citizenship, if Ven pays back what he would've normally had to use to earn it.

(That's a lie. Ven grew up in the capital, and he's not blind, for all that he wears a blindfold to protect his sensitive eyes. People can and will complain. But it helps, and Ven's mother needs all the help she can get - the Populares swing in and out of influence.)

"I'll write - often," he promises. "Tiberia's doing well learning her letters - maybe she'll be able to read what I send by herself soon."

Decimus nods, his expression no more reassured than before. He opens his mouth again just as a brisk knock sounds on the door.

"Architectus Venatus!" a voice calls out.

Decimus and Ven both start - Decimus scrambles to pass over Ven's new hat, then opens his arms for a hug. A deep corner of Ven's mind resignedly notes that it's in that order, because of course it is. But that doesn't keep him from pulling the hat tightly over his ears and hugging back - and for all that, his father's hug is warm and genuine.

(The hat, and keeping his tail under his coat, has never made that much of a difference - it's still obvious he's not natively Garlean. But it's better not to, you know, rub it in, when people are trying to decide whether to wrinkle their noses.)

(It's going to be better in the VIth, Venatus tells himself. The Legions are full of conscripts from outside Garlemald proper. It'll be better. And everyone knows Regula's something like Ven - you know, aside from being Garlean, high-ranking, unquestionable. A younger Ven, less jaded, had looked up to Regula very much. So that can't hurt.)

Ven pulls away from Decimus and strides to the door, slinging his supply pack to his back as he goes. He opens it just before the legionary knocks again, following it up with a salute. The legionary does a small double take, clearly not expecting a Miqo'te with that name, particularly in the streets of the capital - but something anxious in Ven's chest unclenches slightly when there's no more reaction other than that.

"Venatus bas - Venatus jen Iaculus," he confirms, just in case. As if the coat doesn't already show he's a new member of the VIth.

Ven looks back only one more time as the legionary leads him away. The square of light from the open door outlines his father still standing there, staring after him through the thin drizzle of snow, though Decimus definitely isn't dressed for the weather. The man raises a hand in farewell, and Ven does the same before turning away.

The door doesn't shut until long after Ven's around the corner and out of sight.

A/Ns:
Backstory: Vehn is born a year or two earlier, while mom is passing through the Garlean Empire instead of the Steppe. She can't support another kid right then, gives Vehn up to a Garlean orphanage. Tiberia nabs the kid when she's traveling inspecting the provinces - she is a bit younger and more impulsive then, although still quite well respected by that point.
(They renamed him Venata/us because it's a good proper Garlean name that would have people react better to him, but Vehn/Ven could still be used as a nickname without drawing comment.)
The similarity to Regula thing is I'm saying they're both some form of trans. Listen let me have this

Tiberia fae Callidus -> Senator. Very busy woman, not often home. Politics-wise she's supportive or part of the Populares, which is why Venatus was adopted at all (vs an orphaned Garlean)
Decimus dus Iaculus -> Notarius (scrivener) for sure. He's the one most concerned about appearances and looking like a proper Garlean and etc - which isn't to say he's not fond of Venatus, buuut he's very very conscious that a Miqo'te isn't a common sight in the capital, to put it euphemistically. Venatus needs to do 10x as well as a native Garlean to get anywhere but also not stand out TOO much. Venatus can't be seen to do anything improper ever or it'll reflect badly on mom.
Tiberia bas Iaculus -> Younger sister, biologically Tiberia and Decimus's, about ten years younger than Ven. Since she was born Ven's had the nagging voice in the back of his head that she's more important than him to the family, bcs as a Miqo'te he's never going to be able to amount to much in the Empire no matter how hard he tries, and that he's expected to basically toss his life into supporting her. He loves her a lot for sure, but he does have fits of resentment.

2 - Aberrant (Raised-in-Garlemald AU)

[lightparty]

There's a lot of stories in Garlemald proper about magic. Venatus can still recite almost word-perfect the horror stories he'd hear traded back and forth around cereluem heaters on long cold nights - kids trying to scare each other, mostly. He can also pin down by the year how his thoughts about magic changed - the wide-eyed, fascinated terror as a younger child; the dubiousness as an older one, as he also started noticing how other kids would sometimes give him nervous glances as they listened; the unstated feeling of superiority as a teenager as he learned about conscript signiferi. He'd thought he was so mature for not being scared, for scoffingly repeating propoganda that magic couldn't measure up to magitek.

There'd even been times as a teenager that Ven had tried using magic, feeling rebellious and daring - only ever when he was sure nobody would trip over him. The same wary looks people sometimes gave him told him he should be able to. But without any guidance or examples to follow, he'd never gotten far: a spark, a light breeze, and nothing more.

(If Ven's being honest with himself, it's also partially that he hadn't dared to push it any further. He certainly hadn't dared to try and find guidance, thinking of his parents' reactions if he got caught. If he were a native Garlean nobody would blink an eye at a boy doing research about the enemy, but an adopted one who could theoretically do the things he looked up...?)

In training to become an architectus, he'd found his opinion shifting again as he learned the practicalities of setting up fortifications against magical attack. This was the most measured, reasonable reaction, he'd thought, looking back at himself as a teenager with some embarassment. Magic was a threat. But nothing you couldn't deal with if you were prepared - if magitek weren't superior, how could the Garlean Empire have spread so far?

The instructors had warned them - for all their training, they wouldn't truly be prepared for magic until they saw it with their own eyes. Ven had nodded with the rest and instantly forgotten about it. They'd all seen signiferi in action by now, if only in demonstrations, and he'd felt magic with his little test sparks, years ago. That's an experience none of the Garlean architecti around him would ever have. He was prepared, he'd thought.

He's realizing only now he was wrong.

It feels like the very ground's rebelling against them - and while he's seen signiferi commanding the earth, he's never felt it with this scale. The whole camp shakes like it's undergoing a quake, legionaries cursing as they lose their footing in the slick mud. Lighter fortifications list this way and that; heavier ones, seated more deeply, rattle and creak disconcertingly under the strain. Lightning curves away from the rods around the camp, unneringly targeting structures they should not have hit. Each bolt sears Ven's eyes, burning away his night vision and rapidly progressing to the edge of what he knows will be a furious headache, but he doesn't dare pull his dark goggles back down - in this kind of weather, even he won't be able to see.

Ven swipes the back of his hand across his face, wiping rain out of his eyes (and probably tears, his eyes must be watering, but it's hard to tell in this wet). He leaves behind a smear of mud.

"Press them!" someone yells. "Before they bring the whole camp down!" Legionaries stream out towards the camp entrance - plenty are already out on the field, but there are lancers and swordsmen to contend with long before anyone can get to the casters.

In something like this, even the architecti fight, but Ven's not got the first clue where his centurion is; he was out on the other end of camp when the attack started, helping set up the communications center. They're certainly not here anymore. He doesn't fancy his odds of finding them in this chaos, but -

Something feels wrong. Venatus can't put it into words, but there's a sensation in the air that feels hushed, like the quiet of the sky before a truly terrible blizzard. And the lightning strikes, Ven realizes, have stopped aiming themselves - the last few he's seen burn across the sky are back to hitting the lightning rods. Ven can feel his tail bristling, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

He glances around frantically - none of the Garleans near him seem to feel anything, or at least they're not reacting, but there's a conscript near him - another Miqo'te - whose ears have folded down. And an Elezen, a Hyur, another Hyur -

They're all looking the same way, to the northwest - some only for a second or two as they rush on to whatever they were doing, but they can all feel it. For a moment, Ven sees the whites of the other Miqo'te's eyes.

It's magic, Ven realizes abruptly. Magic building. He keeps expecting it to crest and break, unleashing a truly crippling lightning strike or fireball, but it just keeps building up - and the shaking of the ground has levelled off, as if there's only one or two signiferi still pummeling the camp to keep them distracted -

Ven's head turns again, to where he can feel the magic growing. It's impossible to see over the walls and buildings of the camp - daringly, he springs onto a stack of crates, climbing it to end up atop the barracks structure. He still can't see where and what's happening, though he can sense it. But he can see formations shifting, as the conscripts outside who can sense it try to manuever and push through to the source.

(tbc, maybe)