ohmyarceus | March - April Test Drive Meme

A; Lake of Naps

[Perhaps most would not expect to happen across someone fast asleep in the wilderness ordinarily, but especially not at a lake named something as threatening as The Lake of Rage. However, regardless of why you might have come to the lake, be it for fishing, beholding its beauty, or whatever other purpose, Emet-Selch does not share those reasons. Or at least one might surmise, anyway.

Particularly with how he's laying beneath a tree, none too far from the water's edge. Resting with the upper half of his body against the trunk, his arms crossed over his chest, head slumped off to the side, breaths slow and deep—by all appearances, he is undoubtedly asleep. He's dressed a little oddly, but considering the fashion in the Pokémon world, maybe not too odd. In either case, considering he's a rather large man, dressed the way he is, it might be a little too easy to spot him, but then again, who knows if you're the keenest observer! Maybe you only notice him because he's literally underfoot!

Regardless, he does not seem willing to respond. Maybe he's particularly out of it, and this is no ordinary sleep! Is he drunk? Passed out? Both? Who knows! Or, maybe he's just faking it and is trying to ignore you. Either way, this is no place for someone to be napping—especially without Pokémon by their side!]

B; Grandpa On The Net

Greetings.

I am Solus zos Galvus—a name I wager none among you would recognize, but rest assured, I am quite well known from whence I hail. But, I come not to gloat on such matters of personal renown, when such is like as not to hold little worth here. No, rather I have a most pressing inquiry: is there yet a way to silence this infernal score? Or is the inability to escape it merely by some wretched design?

If so, it would be remiss of me to not award credit where it is most assuredly due. Such subtle means of psychological warfare is rather ingenious, if I do say so myself. Something I might appreciate, if I were not in the midst of suffering it myself.

Should this affront to music truly be inescapable, then I would know the methods in which you and yours manage such contemptible and persistent racket.

C; Wildcard

[Feel free to throw a prompt at me, or hit me up on

Zornsable if you wanna plot something out!]

[Someone really should have warned Emet-Selch about napping out in the open without the protection of pokemon nearby. But then, would he have listened? Perhaps he was, in fact, warned but choose to disregard those warnings. A terrible decision, so it shall turn out to be.

Or, well, terrible if he was hoping for a peaceful nap, at least.

Armin has been fishing a little ways away. Not within sight of Emet-Selch, but close enough. But this is not about him. He's meaningless. Ignore him. Instead, focus on the small round ball of trouble. You'd think that by now Maribelle the Azurill would be better about not bouncing off. But she is not. The moment a passing Butterfree catches her attention, she is on her little feet, wriggling out of the leash meant to hold her --nothing will ever hold her-- and she is off chasing after it. A chase which comes to an end when she comes across the large man lying underneath the tree.

She lets out a curious thrill, and then, without any fear, she hops onto Emet-Selch's head with a few bouncy steps, peering down at his sleeping face.]

Zuuuu?

[Who is this?? Is this her new best friend???]

[You are absolutely correct that he would not heed a single warning about where to nap, and would do as he wished regardless. Emet-Selch is not a man to fear much of anything, let alone cutesy monsters of questionable design. While he's well aware of his unfortunately and unmistakable mortal state, that didn't mean much for him in terms of caring about being particularly safe...

Look, the dude has issues.

However, none of these issues help with him being endeared by his small assailant, though he does pointedly try to ignore her at first. A slight twitch to his upper lip being the main indicator that he's aware of the visitor. Granted, he's still not quite used to the weakness this body has when it's not being powered by his aether, so the weight of the small thing bouncing on his head like her own personal trampoline isn't something he can so easily ignore.

So, his face reflexively curls with disgust as he opens his eyes to look up at Maribelle. Wordlessly he reaches a hand up in an attempt to snatch the small Pokémon off of his head. No restraint nor attempted gentleness from him.]

Well, now... What have we here, hm? One of those malformed beasts—though, I cannot say I have seen one like you before.

Edited 2020-04-28 03:16 (UTC)

[Maribelle doesn't bother dodging the hand coming from her, and she is small enough that she fits in his hand fairly well. Like a very energetic tennis ball. And while some pokemon (aka any pokemon with some common sense and a half-working brain cell) would probably be very put off by being suddenly grabbed, Maribelle doesn't seem to be bothered at all. She is still every bit as cheerful and fearless when she is held up for inspection. Her ears twitch a little in response to his question before she lets loose her own response. Not a vocal one, oh no.

See, the gaps between Emet-Selch's fingers give her a perfect view of his face. Which means she has no trouble aiming a spurt of water right at him, hitting him on the cheek.

It really can't be called a Water gun. It's more like a Water pistol; an invitation to play around rather than an attack.

Just... hopefully it will be seen that way.

But probably not.]

[Had he his normal abilities, he might have been able to keep that water from actually hitting him, but as it is...he can't and thus doesn't. Instead, the water hits him squarely where she aimed it, causing the man to jolt with surprise and disgust—mainly because for all he knows that was more spittle, than straight up water.

Keeping his hold, he extends his arm out and away from himself as he wipes his cheek with the other. Little does he want to dirty his clothes anymore than he wants to have his face spat on, but really, what choice does he have?]

Vile little vermin, aren't you? No manners at all. Though, I cannot say I am surprised by such, given what you are.

[With annoyance and an overly dramatic effort to lift himself to his feet (more like a man that should be twice his age trying to get to his feet, than the young form he bears), he stands. A notable slouch to his posture as he looks around for where this little creature might have come from.

Perhaps another trainer? Not that he cares, not really. After all, wasn't he suppose to collect these things for that sad little organization he was drafted into? He sees a boy not far off, but clearly busy with his own devices, so he shrugs. Turning his back to the lake, he starts southward, keeping Maribelle in his grasp as he begins his remarkably slow amble towards town.

Sorry, Maribelle, he certainly did not catch your invitation for play. Or, if he did, he's outright ignoring it.]

'Tis no matter, I have use of you.

[Estinien can't generally be said to have compassion for people. Sure, he doesn't want them to die, he's seen enough of that to last several lifetimes, but individual people? They're annoying, stupid, and generally intolerable. There are many excellent reasons to avoid them.

But, he's been trying to not be a generally terrible person, so when he sees someone passed out under a tree he approaches to at least make sure the man is still breathing, prodded by the voice of guilt that sounds distinctly like a white-haired brat of their mutual acquaintance.

He is, luckily. He looks somewhat familiar, possibly--the hair is certainly distinctive--but Estinien ignores it. He has a terrible memory for names and faces. It's probably nothing.

The little white fox-creature he'd named Iceheart in yet another fit of sentiment sniffs at the man's gloved hand.]

Come, away from there.

[He debates waking the man up to check on his health, but between the niggling discomfort of 'I think I probably know this person, even if I don't know who it is' and his general dislike of people is about to make him walk away.]

[Emet should let him leave. Truly, he should. He wants for nothing more than to be left to his own devices, even if those devices are merely napping where he shouldn't. But Estinien is not the only one who has some passing familiarity with the other—in fact, Emet-Selch knows who this famed dragon-slayer is. One of the pieces in Lahabrea's schemes, and while he did not have a personal hand in that plot, he'd be a fool to not know the pawns.

How very interesting that he would find himself here with none other than the ex-Azure Dragoon. So interesting, in fact, he cannot help himself but say something.]

Done with your heroism are you? [His voice is high and sarcastic as he wills his eyes to open, his golden gaze fixing itself on the Pokémon, before Estinien proper. A fox-like grin spreading across his features as he watches him.] With the cold way you hold yourself, one might assume you beyond caring about your fellow man, yet here you are bothering a stranger out of—what I can only assume to be—concern?

Oh, I am touched, sir. Truly.

[The subtitle of your life is "Cannot help himself", isn't it?

Estinien does stop, sighing slightly. He really should have just left it alone. He could still walk away, but...

And then the little fox is walking up to the man again, mouth open in friendly greeting, tails wagging. Halone preserve.]

It is evident I should not have concerned myself. You're certainly breathing well enough to talk.

[Look, just because he's making an active effort to not always be an asshole doesn't mean he's always successful. Life is about struggling to overcome one's shortcomings.]

[It's such an unfortunate yet all too accurate subtitle. His true burden to bear, not that nonsense with Amaurot, clearly.

For the most part, that poor little fox gets seemingly ignored. Sorry, it's nothing personal, but he doesn't see these creatures as any different from the beasts back home. Naught more than tools, a means to an end. But then a thought occurs to him, and he does reach out to pet the thing's head, if only because he's certain it will get on his company's nerves. How better to arrest this man's time, than to occupy his own companion?]

Yet you did! One might wonder what spurred such anxieties in your breast for a mere stranger. Perhaps a kindly and warm heart beneath that exterior of ice?

[Considering how such a simple character flaw interfered with all of your thousands years of plotting and scheming...

She's too forgiving, clearly. He'll need to make sure she understands the dangers of strange men sleeping in the wilderness. (Nevermind that descriptor could also be used for him. He's clearly an exception.)]

I had thought it would be troublesome if you'd passed in your sleep, but only for a moment.

[He's reevaluating that now. You're way more annoying to deal with alive. This conversation has been all of a few minutes and he's already Done.]

[Look, we can't all be perfect. Even ancient beings have to screw up sometimes!

Well, hopefully she doesn't mind how he's gone to scratch behind her ear, clearly trying to keep her company so that Estinien is hard pressed to retreat too quickly. Sorry, bud, but there will be no Elusive Jumping out of this one!]

How vexing that was not the case, hm? [Clearly sarcasm, even if there might be some edge of genuineness behind it.] And what would you have done if I had? Certainly you are much too busy to burden yourself with my would-be lifeless corpse.

After all, are dragoons not more the sort to leave dead bodies where they lie, than concern themselves with their mess?

[Oh, so you're admitting you're not perfect, that's a shock.

No, she doesn't mind--she's leaning into it. Either perfectly unaware of the tension or reveling in it. If she's anything like her namesake it could easily be either.]

Surely the authorities would appreciate being notified.

[Yeah, between all the cracks about ice and that comment, he is quite certain you know precisely who he is. Which is vexing in and of itself--he's quite known in Ishgard, but outside of it? Barely. And certainly not on sight. (There's something to be said for spending the better part of ten years wearing armor that almost completely covers your face.)]

Hmph. You are hardly my mess to clean up.

[Well, of course! Only Zodiark is true perfection.

But that's good! It means he's got her captivated in some regard, and that works just fine for him. An easily hatched scheme with a most compliant—and, dare he say it, endearing—pawn. With an amused scoff, he lets his eyes fall to the fox he's currently spoiling, curling his hand down and around to give her chin a small scritch.]

Well, look at you. Far more friendly than your companion. I would dare say your company is wasted on him.

[Yep, he's just side stepping that whole thing. He's given him the hints he wanted, idle comments to fester. If the man wished to ask about his familiarity, he could do so, but unless he did, Emet-Selch had little else to offer on the matter.]

[Spoken like a true tempered.

This is frankly ridiculous. So, like everything else he's experienced of late. He'd never thought he'd wane nostalgic for Garlemald of all places, but at least it made sense and didn't have infuriating music playing constantly.

Estinien rolls his eyes--no he doesn't have a mask to hide his disdain anymore, but bold of you to assume he ever truly cared to.]

She's an animal. They're less complicated than people.

[He's thinking you're one of the more complicated ones. Certainly more annoying to deal with.]

[Oh, go have an ancient dragon wear your body like a human-suit. Again.

It's quite fine, honestly, Emet-Selch is completely used to the disdain of others. In fact, he often times seems to seek it out. Certainly makes for more interesting interactions than forced politeness. He much rather blunt and indifferent quips—mostly made by himself—than pretending to care about being sensitive.]

An animal you say? And here I thought she might be your little sister. What with the stunning resemblance and what not.

[With his free hand, he gestures to Estinien's mop of hair. It's quick, and just as quickly he continues:]

Regardless, you are not wrong. I cannot say I am surprised that one of your...lets call it aptitude, might favor the less complicated. However, I likewise cannot say I blame you for it.

[As much as Emet-Selch could be quite the chatterbox, he also was a bit of a loner. Often by choice.]

Edited 2020-04-29 04:15 (UTC)

[Hraesvelgr is too polite to do that.

Explains a lot about you, really. You might be less lonely if you spent a tiny fraction of the last eon cultivating some interpersonal skills.]

Tch.

[He crosses his arms over his chest.]

Common ground to be found after all.

[Foiled by manners, smh!!

Ironic, considering you've spent the better part of two decades doing nothing but killing magical lizards. Look, empires don't build themselves, and rejoinings don't happen through wishful thinking!]

Indeed, common ground is far more common than one might realize. [Though, he hesitates to seek true commonality with someone like Estinien. Sure, he can't see his soul right now, and thus can't fully gleam the details about him he might otherwise, but it didn't matter. He's certain even if he were a sundered Amaurotine fragment, he'd be just as stubborn as the Warrior of Light was.

That was just how mortals were. Stubborn, foolish, frail...

With a final sort of pat to the small fox's head, Emet-Selch finally raises to his feet with the same elegance one might see in their grandfather. Acting the part of the old man his soul certainly was. With a casual stretch, he levels his gaze at Estinien.]

Tell me, Dragoon: are you alone? Your charming pet notwithstanding, of course.

Edited (phone tagging is true suffering) 2020-04-29 05:12 (UTC)

[Look, you've had 10,000+ years to branch out, try new things. You ageless immortal beings and your obsessive compulsions, honestly.

She seems to guess that the attention-giving is more or less over and with a little sniff, trots back over to Estinien. The little traitor.

Answering that question feels a bit foolish. He is alone, as far as he knows, not that it's abnormal for him. But admitting as such to someone who is, he's quite certain, an enemy...

But it's a deception he wouldn't be able to maintain, and is therefore also pointless. He longs for the simplicity of just being pointed at something he can set his lance to. He's not built for subterfuge.]

I take it I am the first Eorzean you've come across.

[He'd have no reason to ask otherwise.]

No one else was with me.

[It's hard to try new things when you are both fueled by past trauma and tempering. There's some measure of free will, but really, does anyone have true free will?

Watching Estinien with a lackadaisical sort of expression, one might not realize Emet was utterly scrutinizing the other man. Trying to catch any possible glimpse or hint that the answer he gives might be a lie. He wouldn't mind if it were, it'd tell him more than the actual answer would.

After all, he didn't actually care if he was alone, he could handle as many Eorzeas as this world decided to saddle him with, but what he wanted to know was how foolish this man might be. How unskillful he might be at pulling the metaphorical wool over someone's eyes. Whether or not he might be worth...cooperating with.

Turns out he's not as much of a fool as he might have guessed. How interesting...]

It's just us, then? Curious...curious indeed.

[He's not sure why it's them out of, well, anyone it could have been.]

Anyroad, shall we properly introduce ourselves? [There seems to be a jolt of energy that sparks through him as he does so, standing up a little straighter, his expression getting a touch brighter, even if its laced in a smarminess that's apparently incurable.] I am Solus zos Galvus, founding father of the Garlean Empire—I wager you've heard of me.

[He could give him his Ascian name, but where's the fun in that? Besides, he'd rather keep the upper hand in this, as much as he can.]

[Look, he gets the past trauma thing, okay...but at some point it just becomes pointless.

Estinien knows his strengths, and they don't lie in deception. He doesn't have the patience for it--his recent stint in Garlemald was the closest he's come, and that was simply keeping ones head down and letting Gaius work with his contacts. That was simple. (Even if being an Elezen in the middle of the empire's capital was itself strange.)]

Fate moves in mysterious ways.

[Ah. That explains the niggling familiarity, the unease, and the fact that this man knows so much about him in one fell swoop. Ascian. He might not know the being's true name, but Varis did drop that little secret about the founding of the Empire, even before he'd gotten strongarmed into joining the cause of the Scions.

Well, if there was ever a time to be alone with an Ascian, it would be when they were both on relatively equal footing.]

I have--though I'm more personally familiar with your descendants.

[Should he say 'sorry for your loss'? Does the man know, or care, that Emperor Varis has been killed? He's just going to...not.]

Estinien Wyrmblood, formerly the Azure Dragoon of Ishgard. As you seem to be aware.

[What? It's not like you've seen everything you love die in a fire or something! Clearly the experiences are not equivalent.

Unfortunately for Emet, he has no idea about Estinien's little stroll with Gaius through Garlemald, nor the bit about Varis' demise. Hell, from his point on the timeline, he's not quite aware of his own impending demise. But as they say, ignorance is bliss and all of that.]

Yes, I am quite aware of you, though none of it personal. [Crossing an arm over his middle, palm resting on the elbow of the other, his free hand raises to cup his chin curiously.] Familiar with my descendants, you say? Taken a trip to Garlemald, have you?

Now then! What business would a wayward wanderer such as yourself have over in the Empire, I must wonder...

[Not that he expects Estinien to actually tell him, but he also wants to make it pretty clear that he's not worried in the slightest. As far as he's concerned, this amped up Dragoon can't do much at all to tip the scales in the same regards as the Warrior of Light could.]

[One word for you: Ferndale.

Also, he's from Ishgard. He's seen a lot of dying in fire in general.

(Something he knows that you don't? Shocking.)]

Mm. That isn't particularly surprising.

[He prefers it that way, people not knowing his history. It's not important for other people to know.]

Cold, snow-covered, and filled with nigh-religious zeal for a figurehead that bare anyone saw. It felt rather like home.

[Not the good parts of it either.]

And wonder you shall.

[Ferndale? Never heard of her!

(Miracles do exist!)]

Then mayhap we are closer to kin than we realized. [~~Maybe that's why Garleans are given the elezen base model!~~]

I shall enjoy puzzling it out, I'm sure. Regardless, that is neither here nor there, and such petty squabbles are likely best left where they are relevant. [Yeah, it's real easy for the genocidal immortal Emperor to suggest bygones being bygones, huh?]

Mayhap we might find ourselves in a mutually beneficial arrangement. After all, I have plenty of experience bringing inferior beasts to heel—without killing them outright. A skill you have far less practice in, I wager.

[You know what, he's okay with that in this situation.

Ew, he doesn't want you in his family tree, creepy grandpa.]

There are certain parallels.

[~~You just wanted to be ridiculous giraffe people.~~ Estinien just waits patiently until Solus is evidently...finished with his short monologue, weighing over the man's words. Tis true, on a world presumably not connected with their own, fighting each other is a pointless use of energy. The Ascian's plan is exactly as stymied as any of their own, so long as they're both here.

Tis not the first time he's set aside animosity for pragmatism.]

Dravanians are dangerous precisely because they are not dumb beasts. You might enjoy a conversation with a few of them.

[Praise Halone that he wasn't around to speak with Nidhogg, even if the great wyrm would probably not differentiate between types of man.]

Though I am not opposed to ceasing hostilities. Tis not like to have much point.

[Oh don't worry, Estinien. He doesn't want you part of his family tree neither. He barely wants the family he's got!]

Oh, worry not, I have had my share of conversations with the dravanians. Just as conquerable as any, though I dare say they take a little more planning and scheming to do so.

But an Ishgardian like yourself would know full well of that, wouldn't you? With the amount of dragon's blood on your hands, well...

[He shrugs, shaking his head.]

'Tis no matter, a conversation that means little here. Though, I must say, I am full glad to see you are a reasonable sort. Surprised, even. Given your more brutish nature.

[Charming.]

Emet-Selch | Final Fantasy XIV (likely spoilers for anything past patch 4.5)

Lake naps

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let the first annual meeting of cranky bastards that could probably use a nap commence -- lakeside

Cranky Bastard Con 2020

where the social distancing is easy because everyone hates each other

The only con not cancelled due to the fact no one would miss them anyway

just because all *your* friends are dead...

Hey, I don't wanna hear this from a dude who can't even appreciate his LIVING friends!

is dragging their unconscious body away from your rabid great-grandson *not* appreciation?

I can see where the argument might be made for it, yes.

well there you go.

Well, I don't see you sacrificing millions of lives for their sake. Shitty friend if you ask me.

considering WoL's opinion on you doing it, they wouldn't appreciate the attempt

They don't have a complete enough brain to have a proper opinion! It's fine, it's cool.

See comments like that are why people don't like you. Aside from the mass murder.

Can't win them all, so you just gotta win the ones that matter!

Well, you are playing the longest game.

It's a good thing I'm immortal then! Oh wait...

rip. /presses f to pay respects

😔

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just because all your friends are dead...

is dragging their unconscious body away from your rabid great-grandson not appreciation?