As he closed the door to his room, Franz nearly fell to the floor. What was he honestly doing at the inn? Why had he decided to leave so suddenly? Decided to speak words about pride? Decided to say something he knew would cause concern?
Pride.
I don’t have pride. Not anymore. Not since I was left to die in Eorzea.
Was it truly “pride†that had prompted him to leave? The feeling that he should should not have shown any weakness? Should not have ever found himself in trouble? Should not have needed another’s help? It ate away at him. Why did it matter so much what Jancis thought of him?
I’m not some hero either.
Franz picked himself up from the floor. It was no place to sleep and he knew that. As he removed the various added layers of clothing until just smallclothes, pants, and a shirt remained, he made his way to the bed. An odd feeling rushed over him and he realized just how restricting it was to wear clothing with such tight clasps, others needed to be pulled tight or tied with a knot. The way it felt as if it dug into his skin. He knew it was not the case, but the longer he sat at the table, it became suffocating. But was it the conversation or the clothes that had really caused discomfort?
Each attempt Jancis had made to raise him up made him retreat further and further. Overbearing? Unwanted? No, undeserved. There within was the problem. A difference in beliefs. He believed to be nothing more than the broken man who had lived with a facade for a short time. A man who had awoke in the desert, left to die, and had made something of himself. Undeniably wrong. Garlean. Foreign. He did not belong in this country. Homesick. How could he even be homesick? He couldn’t answer anything about Garlemald. Sure, there there facts he could say. Or places he could describe. But what of those truly mattered? Could he speak about where he grew up? No. Where he lived? No. The people he knew? No. On the bed lay a man who knew not himself. Or rather, he couldn’t.
Somewhere within the husk he had become, Jancis had thought she must have seen some good. He didn’t “protect†a rat from the slime. she had asked for it and he had complied. He didn’t volunteer his time to help Natalie or Kage with their issues. He complied with the rules of the house in which he lived. In fact, he had conspired with enemies of Ul’dah perhaps more than he had defended it. Terrorists. Jin’li. Others. If the coin was good, it didn’t matter. That had been his life until the past year. What “hero†was content with seeing the city fall? What “hero†was stuck between waiting for Eorzea to fix its own problems? Or to simply fall to Garlean rule? What did Jancis see that made her believe that the actions he did were for anything but his own benefit?
As “Franzâ€, he had made the effort to act nicer. Feign caring. Be social enough to even make a friend or two. But did they truly know him? Did they accept him as the person he was? Could they? None of the people knew what he had done to survive in the desert. How he had dragged himself off the streets of the city once arriving just  to earn barely enough gil to survive. How once word of the “Unnamed Mercenary†had spread, he had finally accumulated enough money to rent a bed to sleep on. Food to eat. They only know ‘Franz’. A name that isn’t even mine. How were they to judge if he was a “heroâ€? Or if he was a “good personâ€. How could they know him if he didn’t know himself?
I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Is that not how I found myself in this situation?
It was painful just to think about it.But what good did it do him to dwell on it? To keep thinking about his failures? To wallow in pity. None. Instead he continued to do so anyways.
For nearly a bell after, he lay on the bed staring out the window as if some caged animal. but he was the one who had built up the walls, stopped talking to others, secluded himself. I wonder if she even sees the same stars in Garlemald.
As exhaustion washed over him, he could feel himself sinking into slumber. Sight and sound beginning to blur as he drifted off on the bed. He was nearly asleep when he heard the knock.
All that could be heard from between the door was a startled sound as he jerked up from the bed, hitting the floor.
Pride.
I don’t have pride. Not anymore. Not since I was left to die in Eorzea.
Was it truly “pride†that had prompted him to leave? The feeling that he should should not have shown any weakness? Should not have ever found himself in trouble? Should not have needed another’s help? It ate away at him. Why did it matter so much what Jancis thought of him?
I’m not some hero either.
Franz picked himself up from the floor. It was no place to sleep and he knew that. As he removed the various added layers of clothing until just smallclothes, pants, and a shirt remained, he made his way to the bed. An odd feeling rushed over him and he realized just how restricting it was to wear clothing with such tight clasps, others needed to be pulled tight or tied with a knot. The way it felt as if it dug into his skin. He knew it was not the case, but the longer he sat at the table, it became suffocating. But was it the conversation or the clothes that had really caused discomfort?
Each attempt Jancis had made to raise him up made him retreat further and further. Overbearing? Unwanted? No, undeserved. There within was the problem. A difference in beliefs. He believed to be nothing more than the broken man who had lived with a facade for a short time. A man who had awoke in the desert, left to die, and had made something of himself. Undeniably wrong. Garlean. Foreign. He did not belong in this country. Homesick. How could he even be homesick? He couldn’t answer anything about Garlemald. Sure, there there facts he could say. Or places he could describe. But what of those truly mattered? Could he speak about where he grew up? No. Where he lived? No. The people he knew? No. On the bed lay a man who knew not himself. Or rather, he couldn’t.
Somewhere within the husk he had become, Jancis had thought she must have seen some good. He didn’t “protect†a rat from the slime. she had asked for it and he had complied. He didn’t volunteer his time to help Natalie or Kage with their issues. He complied with the rules of the house in which he lived. In fact, he had conspired with enemies of Ul’dah perhaps more than he had defended it. Terrorists. Jin’li. Others. If the coin was good, it didn’t matter. That had been his life until the past year. What “hero†was content with seeing the city fall? What “hero†was stuck between waiting for Eorzea to fix its own problems? Or to simply fall to Garlean rule? What did Jancis see that made her believe that the actions he did were for anything but his own benefit?
As “Franzâ€, he had made the effort to act nicer. Feign caring. Be social enough to even make a friend or two. But did they truly know him? Did they accept him as the person he was? Could they? None of the people knew what he had done to survive in the desert. How he had dragged himself off the streets of the city once arriving just  to earn barely enough gil to survive. How once word of the “Unnamed Mercenary†had spread, he had finally accumulated enough money to rent a bed to sleep on. Food to eat. They only know ‘Franz’. A name that isn’t even mine. How were they to judge if he was a “heroâ€? Or if he was a “good personâ€. How could they know him if he didn’t know himself?
I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Is that not how I found myself in this situation?
It was painful just to think about it.But what good did it do him to dwell on it? To keep thinking about his failures? To wallow in pity. None. Instead he continued to do so anyways.
For nearly a bell after, he lay on the bed staring out the window as if some caged animal. but he was the one who had built up the walls, stopped talking to others, secluded himself. I wonder if she even sees the same stars in Garlemald.
As exhaustion washed over him, he could feel himself sinking into slumber. Sight and sound beginning to blur as he drifted off on the bed. He was nearly asleep when he heard the knock.
Quote:“We are rarely proud when we are alone, Franz."
All that could be heard from between the door was a startled sound as he jerked up from the bed, hitting the floor.
