Entry 5, eighteen days after Silk Talons: Chapter 8
From Ginal's journal:
Imagine how thrilled I was when Selah said we should drop everything and go on a holiday. There was some kind of event happening in legendary Costa del Sol, something about art and wine. I do love a good mead, and I've always adored my paintings of the Shroud's famous landmarks, like Apkallu Falls. It sounded like a date, but multiple days long instead of one evening, so you're damn right I jumped at it! Selah's promise of watching her prance about in that bikini of hers may have also enticed me into agreeing.
It's too bad things didn't work out like I imagined.
It started just fine, when we took the aethernet to Limsa Lominsa. I had never been there before, and I found the shoreside castle-city grand and enchanting, like something from a story Daddy once read me, and I loved the views of the seas from all around me. The locals were a bit more colorful than I was prepared for, but there was an honest charm to the people that reminded me of Gridania. They were certainly more pleasant than the "money buys you happiness" people of Ul'dah.
The following morning we took a lovely boat ride to Costa. It was beautiful, with the beaches and seaside cliffs on one side, and the sapphire blue waters on the other. The way the waters stretched on forever, endlessly deep and beautiful, felt almost like looking into Selah's eyes.
Then we spent the afternoon on Costa del Sol's beach, sunbathing and building castles. Did I mention that Selah looks stunningly sexy in her bikini? And when she cast her line to try to reel in lunch, I just sat back and admired the view. Did I mention that she has an amazing rear? I've looked over many women over the years, and it's no exaggeration to say that my Lady has the the most gorgeous backside in Eorzea. I had to spend a fair amount of time hugging my knees to conceal my reaction from the other beach goers. Sometimes being me is more embarrassing than feels worthwhile.
Then came evening and it was time for this event Selah was so excited for. I wore my nicest skirt and all my peridot jewelry, Selah wore that nice tunic and slacks with her sapphire circlet. I wish I could convince her to wear skirts more often, she really does look great in them on the occasions she'll relent.
Things began going badly the moment we walked into the open, on stilts building. You see, as we were walking to the event, Selah kept looking me over, smiling at me and telling me how great I looked. She even pulled me aside for a few quick kisses and more than once her hand wandered to say hello to my bottom. Her attention was all on me, and while I'm sure it's just my insecurities talking, I love it when her attention is all on me. I crave her attention constantly. The very moment we walked into this makeshift art gallery, her attention left me entirely, and I can admit that it made me feel more than a little ignored to see my lover suddenly ogling paintings instead of me.
So I tried to join in. I took a glass of the wine being served and started studying the paintings around me. The wine tasted sour and left my mouth dry, nothing like honey wines I love. And the so called "high art" that I was looking at just confused me. It was supposed to be paintings of flowers, but I sure didn't see it. It was just blobs of color thrown hastily onto canvas as far as I could tell. It looked nothing like the paintings I like.
Selah asked me what I thought, finally, and I told her I didn't understand it. So she told me, in the most condescending tone I've ever heard from her, some nonsense about use of color and abstract something or another. It didn't make sense to me at all. Why would anyone try to defend this mess is beyond me, and why you want a "painting" of something that doesn't actually look like what it's supposed to be is even further beyond me. This isn't art, it's a load of chocobo dung, and after the tone she spoke to me in, I told as such.
I didn't care to hear her reply. I was too tired, irritated and hungry to listen to anymore from her, so the moment I spotted the buffet table I bolted. And yet again, I was faced with things being entirely the opposite of what they should be. Tiny puffed pastries, small slices of cheese and fruit, and tiny fish eggs spread on thin crackers. These people have no idea what food is, do they? But it's still a buffet, right? So I grabbed a plate and loaded the thing up, just to realize that people were glaring at me. What in the seven hells kind of buffet is this, where it's "incorrect" to pile my plate with all I can eat? I couldn't even eat that much because the people around me kept smirking or rolling their eyes, and gods damn I'm hungry!
So fine, they can keep their lousy, tiny, unfilling and cold food. I grabbed another glass of wine and decided to give it one more go with another painting. Once again, I just didn't understand what I was looking at. I tried, I really did, but it all just looks so childish and sloppy to me. Then some other party-goers decided to study the painting I was, and then they decided to ask me what I thought of the art and the wine.
Hand me a mug of beer and I can tell you if it's an ale or lager, and the hops and malts used. Hand me my lance and I'll show you how to fight off Ixali warriors from all sides. Ask me about the constellations and their stories, ask me what animal made those tracks and how long ago it passed through, ask me which tree is a spruce, an oak and zelkova. I know these things, but "fine wines" and "high art?"
Gods damn it all, Selah, why didn't you tell me anything about these things before we left? You know I don't drink wine, you've seen the paintings in my room, and you know the kind of food I eat. Why did you do this to me, and leave me so awfully unprepared?
So I tried to answer as honestly as I could. Big mistake. These rich, foppish asses laughed so hard at my expense that I could feel the exact shade of red my face turned. Time to go. After pushing my way through the crowd of pretentious snobs, I finally found Selah, making what sure as the hells appeared to be googly eyes at this older lalafell woman. I hate it when she looks at other women fondly, and so blatantly too. Truly, it's a miracle I found the strength to stop myself from walking right up to Selah and smacking her for it, because I very nearly did.
But I stopped myself, and that's what's important. Then she used that word. "Partner." I hate that word, and I hate it when she uses it. It's vague and evasive. What kind of partner? Adventuring? Business? Call me your lover, your lady, your beloved. You would have used any of those words back home in Gridania, so why not here? And don't think I didn't see the way the midget bitch narrowed her eyes. What's that supposed to mean, that I'm not good enough for the high and mighty Selah all of a sudden?
This was a dreadful evening, and there's nothing Selah will ever say that will make me go to another high society event like this again.
I'd rather take another arrow in my side.
From Selah's journal:
It started innocently enough, with a message from Gegeruju.
A few months back, I had done some favors for the Lalafell entrepreneur, whose tent-on-stilts mansion dominates the shoreline of Costa del Sol. As a result, I’ve ended up on his Moogle-list. Scarcely a week goes by that I don’t get some kind of offer, invitation or social announcement. Most of his messages end up crumpled in the tinder-basket. But I read this one several times, and each time it sounded more interesting.
“Artist’s reception and wine-tasting,” it read, although with considerably more curlicues and capital letters. “Followed by dancing and a catered dinner. RSVP.”
Ginal was sitting on the bed, adjusting the bindings on her lance. “Hey, honey!” I said. “How would you like to spend the weekend in Costa?”
“Business?” she asked, sighting along the lance with one eye closed.
“Holiday. I figured we should get some use from those Moonfire Faire bikinis before the weather turns cold. And one of my old employers is throwing a party.”
Ginal dropped the lance and padded over to look at the invitation. “Ooh… fancy!” she said. “Gold leaf and everything. I gather this guy has money.”
“Tons of it. And always looking for ways to make more.”
“So this party is a business venture?”
“Well, I’m sure if anyone buys a painting, he’ll receive a fat commission.”
“And the party will be a business expense, so he can write it off his taxes.”
I grinned. “Sounds like you’ve met Gegeruju.”
“I’ve seen his type before. But if you really want to go this hoity-toity clambake, let’s do it.”
That’s the point I should have heard the warning bells. But I was remembering Gegeruju’s wine cellar. And how lovely Ginal looked in that emerald green bikini.
My mistake.
Costa del Sol! We took the ferry from Limsa at sunrise, and baked blissfully on the beach all day. I had brought along my fishing gear, and soon we had a nice fat tuna, which I cut up for miq’abobs while Ginal built a fire. Later, we gathered sea-shells and built a sand-fort, which we watched the waves demolish. It was a grand beach holiday for two hard-working lancers, and we deserved it.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, we returned to our lodging to wash up and dress for the evening. Ginal had brought a long green skirt of Vanya silk, and her peridot jewelry. (Green is really “her” color, and that skirt perfectly complimented her eyes.) I wore my Rhotano Blue formal wool tunic over black tights and a silver circlet with a single perfect sapphire. Fashion-wise, we were a match for anyone — never mind that our combined monthly salaries might just have covered the cost of one of Gegeruju’s cheaper bottles of Wineport champagne.
The walkway to the mansion was lined with torches. A Roegadyn servant in fancy livery greeted us, directing us along the suspended walkways to an upper deck, where an entire canopied platform had been dedicated to the party.
“Some digs,” Ginal remarked as we stepped through the curtained door.
“Indeed,” I said. But my thoughts were elsewhere. Because the moment we stepped into the room, we were surrounded by color.
They were flower paintings, huge things, most of them a good six feet square. And they were wildly, intensely abstract, with a pure joy in form and color that spoke of a love of the world of nature and everything in it, as well as the intensity of the artist's emotions. I stood stunned before an expanse of poppies, grand splashes of intense yellow and red and orange, painted with a loose and daring hand, their outlines barely defined by a dark green background, sharp-edged and cut in later, like a mason carving flowers out of stone.
“Oh… wow!” was all I could say. I barely felt a waiter slip a glass into my hand.
“I’m glad you like it,” said a tiny, feminine voice, at about the level of my knee. I looked down to find a diminutive Lalafell woman wearing a flowered robe that looked exactly like one of her paintings.
“You must be Sisifu,” I said, bending to extend a hand to shake. “These are magnificent!”
The artist beamed. “I paint them flat on the floor,” she confided. “With brushes the size of brooms. I tried working on ladders, but it was too awkward. I kept falling off.”
“You’ve really found your medium. I wish I could fit one in my room.” Or afford it, I thought. But let’s not get into that.
Sisifu narrowed her eyes with a wicked expression. “Some of them are available as carpet designs."
“Don’t tempt me,” I laughed. “Imagine walking on a bed of flowers!”
I looked toward Ginal, who had been silent since we arrived. She was not smiling. She faced the enormous painting as if it were an attacking Ixal, arms resolutely folded.
“Lovely meeting you,” said Sisifu, glancing at Ginal, then back at me. She drifted off across the room, toward another knot of viewers and the beaming Gegeruju.
I turned to my glowering partner. “So, Ginal, what do you think?”
“This is supposed to be art?” she whispered. “I could draw better than that when I was six.”
“Well, it’s not supposed to be representational,” I said carefully. “It’s about color, and form, and emotion.”
“It’s about crap.” Ginal stalked off, stepping deftly around a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses.
I should have seen the writing on the wall, and taken her away from there for a pleasant evening at the local tavern, munching fried fish balls and playing darts and drinking beer. But by this time my back was up. I liked these paintings, and I was damned if I was going to have my evening ruined by Ginal’s “we're just simple folks from the Shroud” mood. So I slid around the room, from one heroic canvas to another, stopping to chat with the other patrons of the arts. I snagged some very nice caviar from the buffet, and another glass of champers.
I was standing in front of a mass of hot pink tulips on a light blue background, with very loose and painterly treatment of the leaves, when I heard a familiar voice.
“Why, Selah Phocina! Imagine finding you here!”
“Hanama?” I spun around, and there she was. She hadn't changed a bit in the two years since I had last seen her. I hunkered down so our faces were level. “What a delightful surprise! Are you here alone?”
She nodded. “Tatanumu is in Gridania on business. I received dear Gegeruju’s invitation, drove the carriage to Vesper
Bay, and sailed on over. I do so love shopping trips in Limsa! But what brings you here, Selah?”
I laughed. “I’m one of the hundreds of folks who once did Gegeruju a favor. So I’m getting paid in wine and artwork. Aren’t these wonderful?”
“They are! And the artist another Lalafell. She balances on boards above the canvas to paint them -- just imagine! She has such a feel for color! I think I’ll buy one and smooth it over with Tatanumu later. He says he likes art, but he’s more into still lifes with dead dodos draped over heaps of apples, don’t you know!”
I laughed, perhaps a bit unkindly, and looked up to find Ginal staring at us. I waved her over. “Ginal, I would like you to meet an old friend, Hanama Nama, from Ul’Dah. Hanama, this is Ginal Celah, my partner. She’s another lancer.”
I noticed the slight narrowing of Hanama’s eyes as I said the word “partner.” But did Ginal see it too? I sincerely hoped not. Things were complicated enough between us already.
“Pleased to meet you,” Ginal drawled, extending a hand. “Selah, dear, do you suppose we could leave soon? I’ve really had enough art for one evening.”
“Any time you’re ready, love,” I replied.
Hanama glanced from Ginal to me, and back again. “Lovely to meet you, dear,” she said gently. “And please do let me know next time you are in Ul’Dah. I would love to invite you both for dinner.”
Entry 6, nineteen days after Silk Talons: Chapter 8
From Ginal's Journal:
This vacation may be the worst time of my life, and I'm beginning to have some very real doubts about Selah and I.
Today, things went wrong from the moment I woke up. Normally Selah has either made us breakfast, or we go together to get it. This morning though, she had already eaten before I woke, and had her nose buried in a book. She barely acknowledged me, so I went to eat by myself.
When I was done, I decided it was time to talk about last night, but when I went back to talk to her I found her still in her books and very obviously ignoring me. That really hurt, but I gave up trying to get her attention and left without another word.
I wandered up the coast a ways and challenged the local crabs, since I had never hunted them before. Even on holiday, a lancer needs to keep in practice. I spent a good while unloading my frustrations through my lance, even did a little showboating for some kids who wandered away from Costa on a secret adventure.
It was starting to seem like, after a lengthy hunting workout and a lot of time thinking things over, that the day might just be salvaged from the rough morning. Maybe Selah and I just needed a short breather to cool off from the night of irritations. After all, we had fought over worse and still talked things out.
Then it came, rising from the water deliberately. I had never seen anything so huge and imposing and terrifying. Grez called it Cancer, apparently a beast of legend among Limsa Lominsa.
And the damnable thing set it's gaze square upon my new friends, the junior adventurers. I acted as quickly as I could and threw the largest stone I could lift at it to draw it's attention, only to realize that I had formally challenged it.
I took to the Company linkpearl to call Selah, knowing she could be with me in a near instant. No answer. I called again as Cancer lumbered near, and no answer. I could feel my heart trying to escape my chest and my legs struggling to remain strong as the monster loomed over me and studied me. I remember screaming something into the pearl and finally getting a reply. I think it was Ozalie.
Someone told me help was on the way, to just stay calm and hang on. I tried to stay light on my feet and evade the monstrous claws, but I was already tired from my hunting. Keeping the thing at bay wasn't easy, especially with the linkpearl constantly humming in my ear. It sounded like the entirety of Doom was calling back and forth over their pearls, some shouting at me to try to reassure me, others still trying to find Selah. If she had been there with me, I know we could have taken it together.
I evaded and dodged and jabbed and parried until I was so hungry and tired and weak that I could hardly move anymore. That's when Cancer moved in and snagged me. It's pincer squeezing me was the worst pain I've ever felt, and I could hear something breaking inside me. I believed I was going to die there, until a sort of explosion startled the beast and he dropped me.
I could barely stand, breathing hurt and everything ached furiously. I know that it was my comrades from Doom that were showing up to fight the monster, but I can't seem to remember who exactly was there. I also can't remember how long they battled. Time just sort of ceased as I struggled to stay awake, and was only barely aware of someone standing guard by me.
Selah finally came and pierced the crab's skull with her relic weapon, ending it's life. As relieved as I was to see her, I was just as angry that she wasn't there when I needed her. I think I remember collapsing into a sobbing heap. I woke a while later with Lupe having healed me again. He told me my ribs had been shattered.
Selah and I sat under a large tree on the beach, and even though she was beginning to apologize, likely for not being there, I was too exhausted to hear it. I told her to just shut up and hold me.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe after some sleep everything will seem less important. But as of now, I feel abandoned, and unappreciated from the party yesterday.
I'm starting to worry that she's finally tired of me.
From Selah's Journal:
I woke the next morning with thoughts of divorce.
Not that Ginal and I are actually married. But it’s starting to feel like we are, and it’s starting to feel like a trap. In my fantasy of marriage, the ideal I have never seen in real couples, it’s a relationship of equal partners. Like Ginal and me in battle, back to back, trusting each other to hold off the world. Except that even there, she takes risks, showboats, overextends herself. Which means I have to step in for a quick rescue. Which leads to even more emotional complications.
In this case, the complication was nothing as dire as a room full of shambling skeletons waving rusty swords. It was a ruined evening, a gala event cut short before the promised dinner and dancing, just because Ginal feels threatened by non-representational art.
And also because, to be honest, most of the people who attend gala events are pompous asshats. But you don’t have to take them seriously. I’ve learned to deal with them, and so could Ginal.
I woke still feeling trapped and angry, and I really didn’t feel like talking to her. So I grabbed my +2 Shield of Psychic Defense — in other words, a book — and curled up in the window seat. It was Pers Allyn’s “Firedrake”, the third volume of his “Elemental Dragons” series, and it’s a page-turner. A few minutes later I was deep in Allyn’s description of a haunted pirate ship, and Ginal was (almost, but not quite) forgotten.
I knew she was staring at me, willing me to look at her. I didn’t. She made a few small cat-noises in the back of her throat. I ignored them. And so she flopped her arms in frustration and headed off to find some breakfast.
Which suited me fine. I wanted to be alone.
Though, to be honest, I was feeling slightly guilty for ignoring her. And for dragging her to a party that I wanted to attend, but where she would feel out of her depth. Much as I had the first time I got plunked down in the middle of Coerthan petty nobility, with even less chance of escape. I learned to cope (what choice did I have?), to play the game, and even to enjoy it. There’s no reason Ginal can’t learn to do the same.
And there is no bloody reason she should have to.
I sighed and put down the book. You can’t enjoy a good read when your mental blackbird is yammering about something else, and your stomach is twisted with the sense of having really, really blown it.
But at least some of the discomfort was probably hunger (as I said, we had left before dinner,) and breakfast in Costa is a joy. And so I headed out to explore the possibilities, with memories of fried fish and pineapple salsa to guide me.
I left the linkpearl on the bedside table. I didn’t want to talk to Ginal, and I certainly didn’t want her voice whining in my ear before I was ready to have a civil conversation. We aren’t joined at the hip. And we were in Costa, for gods’ sake. A safe place, with gentle weather and pretty scenery.
What could possibly go wrong?
The food-stand had a cheerful fry-cook and a jumble of chairs and tables out front, facing the sea. I carried my breakfast platter and tea-mug to the farthest of them, surrounded by the sound of calling gulls and the whisper of the sea-wind in palm leaves. I had settled in before I realized I had a neighbor.
It was Sisifu, the Lalafell artist whose flower abstracts had been the centerpiece of Gegeruju’s party. She had a sketchbook in front of her, a pencil in her hand, and her tongue between her teeth. I glanced over, as one does. She was drawing the landscape.
It was magnificent. Linear and muscular, with a keen sense of force and composition.
“Not your usual style,” I remarked. “You really caught the gesture of that headland.”
“Thanks,” she said with a spontaneous smile. “It’s like a shrugging shoulder, isn’t it? I keep thinking about doing these — landforms, clouds, masses of vegetation. But the big flower abstracts sell so well, and they’re what I’m known for. To be honest, sometimes I feel a little trapped by them.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. Ginal’s face floated up in my memory, and I felt a twinge of guilt. “But sometimes you have to face discomfort if you’re going to grow.”
“You’re right,” she said. “It helps to hear the obvious, doesn't it? Maybe my next show will be landscapes. Will you come?”
“I would be delighted.” I was writing my contact information in her notebook when Tim ran past, staff in hand.
“What the hells are you doing here?” he shouted. “Ginal needs you!”
I touched my ear, and remembered that I had left the linkpearl in the room. My lance was there too. Then I was running, shouting “Ginal! Hang on! I’m coming!” even though I knew she was out of earshot and I didn’t know where she was, and, wherever she was, I was still much too far away to help her.
I dashed into our room and grabbed my lance. The linkpearl was bleating on the table. I recognized voices of half the Free Company, Ginal’s among them. She sounded terrified. “Selah! Where are you? Hurry…” Then I was out the door, slapping the pearl into my ear, following the signal north along the beach, where I could already see the flashing chaos of a battle. And something impossibly huge, a boulder on legs, with a humped shell like a demonic helmet and enormous, saw-toothed claws.
I'm coming. Oh, shit! I'm coming! Where the hell is Ginal? I can't hear her any more.
Then I saw her. She was down. I could see Ozalie standing over her, and the green swirl of healing energies. The rest of the Free Company was battling the crab. It was weakening — another moment, and it would be dead. But I wasn’t about to let them finish it without me. I launched into a Dragonfire at the far edge of my range, twisted in mid-air, and landed with the full force of gravity and magic and gut-wrenching terror behind my flaming lance.
The giant crab was dead. I didn’t give a damn about him any more.
“Ginal…” I whispered, kneeling beside her. I reached out and touched her shoulder. There was blood all over her shirt.
“Careful,” said Ozalie. “Half her ribs have been broken.”
Ginal opened her eyes. “Where in the seven hells were you!” she blurted.
“Honey, I’m so sorry…”
“Just shut up and hold me.” She crawled into my arms, slow and awkward with pain. I fought down the urge to hug her tight. (Her poor ribs! Fighting that monster alone…) I gathered her in. I stroked her back and hair. I kissed her face. She closed her eyes again. There were tears on her cheeks.
“Never, ever go out without your linkpearl,” Tim scolded. “That was the Cancer crab. She could have been fucking killed!”
I know, Tim. I know.
I know.
