They hate each other. They still bloody hate each other.
How many times have they tried? How many times has she tried to make them tolerate the other's Godsdamned prescence in the same room?
Elyscia cussed under her breath, mocking, "Wains." The two loves of her life older than she - one moreso - acting like bloody Godsdamned children. Twelve have mercy.
Walking down the path to the Mist, the miqo'te took a detour to find a pen full of sheep; the look she gave them was either one of endearment, or hunger - you couldn't really tell.
Deep in thought, she mulled over ways to make them stop acting like wee shites, and recalled the brief lapse in her lovers' voice a few suns ago when the topic of her sister had come-up. Again. As always, he felt demonised and couldn't understand why it appeared he was the one at fault when all he ever does, all he ever tries to do is protect his one and only love, but Elyscia laid-down the truth:
"Ah ken yer worried she'll hurt me 'n' all that, but that wis ages ago...'N'.. if y'think 'bout it...las' time anybody hurt me.. wis prolly you.. when we firs' met ea'chother 'n'.. y'called me names 'n' all.. "
He was always so stoic; held himself proudly, and whenever he spoke to her his voice was softer, more compassionate, more loving.. yet he still held his well-learned, refined tongue - his 'fancyfolk' way of speaking. But it faded momentarily when she told him the fact.Â
He uttered out, "Yeah... you're right."Â
The change in his speech surprised her.
It finally seemed like she was getting somewhere, though. "Ah'll bloody keep tryin'.." she confessed to the sheepies, pivoting and continuing on the path back home, and now thinking about her two-week trip back to Ul'dah. Apprehension and anxiety was settling in as she began stroking her tail that was tightly curled around her waist - the city would serve to give her night-terrors.. but she should be fine. Hopefully.
When she arrives in the city surrounded by sand, the chocobo stables would be one of her first visits, and it would be a good-time to carve more trinkets out of wood.Â
She smiled. Finally.
How many times have they tried? How many times has she tried to make them tolerate the other's Godsdamned prescence in the same room?
Elyscia cussed under her breath, mocking, "Wains." The two loves of her life older than she - one moreso - acting like bloody Godsdamned children. Twelve have mercy.
Walking down the path to the Mist, the miqo'te took a detour to find a pen full of sheep; the look she gave them was either one of endearment, or hunger - you couldn't really tell.
Deep in thought, she mulled over ways to make them stop acting like wee shites, and recalled the brief lapse in her lovers' voice a few suns ago when the topic of her sister had come-up. Again. As always, he felt demonised and couldn't understand why it appeared he was the one at fault when all he ever does, all he ever tries to do is protect his one and only love, but Elyscia laid-down the truth:
"Ah ken yer worried she'll hurt me 'n' all that, but that wis ages ago...'N'.. if y'think 'bout it...las' time anybody hurt me.. wis prolly you.. when we firs' met ea'chother 'n'.. y'called me names 'n' all.. "
He was always so stoic; held himself proudly, and whenever he spoke to her his voice was softer, more compassionate, more loving.. yet he still held his well-learned, refined tongue - his 'fancyfolk' way of speaking. But it faded momentarily when she told him the fact.Â
He uttered out, "Yeah... you're right."Â
The change in his speech surprised her.
It finally seemed like she was getting somewhere, though. "Ah'll bloody keep tryin'.." she confessed to the sheepies, pivoting and continuing on the path back home, and now thinking about her two-week trip back to Ul'dah. Apprehension and anxiety was settling in as she began stroking her tail that was tightly curled around her waist - the city would serve to give her night-terrors.. but she should be fine. Hopefully.
When she arrives in the city surrounded by sand, the chocobo stables would be one of her first visits, and it would be a good-time to carve more trinkets out of wood.Â
She smiled. Finally.
