[The night prior, Aerith lost track of when she'd finally fallen asleep.
Instead, returning to her oversimplified quarters which she would have allowed to become overgrown with plants and flowers, she spends most of the night thinking about Clive. Perhaps that is to be expected, all things considered. But eventually slumber claims her and the morning next, she greets with a warmed smile.
She'll see him eventually, but knows he has plenty on his plate already to handle. Has he, too, thought about her? In the same way, perhaps? Curiosity. Intrigue. Just the pure-of-heart desire to support and be supported alike. Aerith swears, as she leans over to water a particularly impressive fern-like plant, that she can still feel where he left a kiss on her cheek the night before.
Her garden in the Hideaway is, perhaps, more than what one might expect it to be, considering the waters surrounding them are more oft than not blighted and not fit for trying to encourage life to take root. Aerith manages, though, in ways seen and ways not. It's a very organised collective. A couple of growing trees that don't seem to be shy in bearing fruit. Some beds of flowers for no other reason than to be pretty. Beds for vegetables and spices, something to help give their food a little more flavour.
It is, unsurprisingly, one of her favourite places to be and easily the place she's most likely to be found.
As she offers a look up to an afternoon sky, she offers a friendly wave to a Charon who looks like she has a mission in mind. Somehow, it feels like Charon always does. Where some might find her a little hard to handle, Aerith is charmed by her blunt and tactless approach to many conversations and situations.
[ That night, Clive dreams in emerald. Jade aether, green water, viridian forest. Ifrit roils under his skin, jaw unhinged, ravenous in the way it always becomes in the presence of something powerful and ancient; Clive tempers the beast with memories of warm palms and a soft smile, the sound of Aerith's voice calling his name. Clive.
It stays with him, even after he wakes. Clive, like birdsong. Clive, like the chime of a bell. It stays with him through his morning briefing, through his conversation with Otto about future plans, through a quick interaction he has with Gav, who waves a hand in front of Clive's face and laughs about how someone might have had a drink too many the night prior.
Okay, fine. He concedes that he might be distracted, and that he should probably find the reason for his distraction before he accidentally steps off a half-finished platform and slips into blighted water. A moment to regroup, and he heads towards the gardens (narrowly missing Charon on her warpath― he doesn't ask) (for now), looking for the outline of the woman still on his mind, and the sound of Clive in her voice.
When he finds her, framed by trees and sunlight, he finds himself gentling despite himself. ]
Aerith. [ His lips curl upwards in greeting. ] ...Did you sleep well?
[By the time Clive finds her, Aerith is lifting a hand to sweep her hair from her face. It's a fruitless endeavour, however, born from a habit she's never quite broken. Feathered chestnut falls right back into place, framing her features. She settles for tightening the way her hair has been pulled back.
When she's reaching for her watering can once more, she hears him. He needs only day her name and a peculiar little flutter seems to find life far beneath her composed surface. Goodness, she could listen to him speak for hours. Aerith wonders, for a beat, when she first began to think that. She doesn't seem to know.
Turning, she takes her time in assessing him. She's already smiling, but that curve in her mouth makes hers grow. She has to resist the temptation to gently scrape teeth over her bottom lip. He looks well, despite the idea that surely she kept him up way too late the night before. But she also imagines that if it was not her, something else might have. Someone with all of the responsibility he holds on his shoulder, probably doesn't find rest with ease.
Her head tilts and she stretches her arms over her head.]
Clive. [She finally begins, trying to emulate what she deems his very particular speaking habits. It is, as many things can be in her hands, a little laughable.] I did, yeah. Probably the nicest one I've had in a while.
[She doesn't need a lot of guesses as to why.]
I hope you were able to get some sleep. I know I kept you up too late. I'm sorry.
[For all that she so selfishly enjoyed herself, she really is apologetic.]
[ There it is― Clive, in her voice, twinkling. He sways on the balls of his feet for a breath of a second, drawn to her gentle cadence like, yes, a flower bending towards the sun.
Careful, Rosfield. For no other reason than to make sure he stays on-task, Clive clears his throat and shakes his head, forcing himself to concentrate on the content of Aerith's words rather than their delivery.
At the apology: ] Don't be. [ His circadian rhythm's been wrecked since he was a child― there's no reason for anyone to be sorry for the irregularity of his lifestyle. ] I was out like a light until Torgal woke me with his whining.
[ Gentle, mundane updates. It feels a luxury to be able to speak without consequence, and he laughs under his breath about it. ]
And now I'm here to be put to work. Don't be shy― you've permission to order me around.
You can't blame him. It's not often that I don't see him in your company. He knows what he wants and doesn't have our complicated way of hesitating.
[She's referring more to herself when she says things like that. Aerith may be rather courageous, but her preexisting circumstances have left her often and perhaps overly careful in how she lives her life and addresses the people around her.
All the same, Clive seems to be in good spirits. When he makes mention that he's ready to work, she can't stop the laugh that escapes her. Amused, she appreciates him a few moments more.]
I wasn't aware you thought I was shy.
[Gently, she teases him, though she wonders if that's how she comes off. Shy. She was when she was younger. More sheltered. Not worldly enough and she still doesn't consider herself exactly worldly.
Aerith points up at a branch that he's walked under on his way just to get to her. The fruit trees are varied, though the one in immediate question seems to be apples. Some of the others have citrus and other region-local fruits.]
You can start by picking the things I can't get to, if you want. I'll be bringing them to the mess later for daily roundup. I'm going to see if I can convince Molly to bake some apples.
[ The joke here is that he doesn't think Aerith is shy at all, though appearances are often deceiving. There's also her deference to consider, and the way she pulls back when she genuinely believes herself to be a bother; not shy, no, but aware of herself in a way that Clive thinks might speak to some other complication.
But, essentially, he's happy to be bullied. (Affectionately.) He never thrives more than when he feels needed, and it's a pleasant thing, really, to be needed by someone who asks him for favors so sweetly.
Blue eyes follow the trajectory of Aerith's finger again, the same way they did the night before; this time, instead of stars, they focus on fruits. ]
Apples, [ he parrots. ] We've come a long way from our old Hideaway.
[ When the fruits were sour and Cid would be the only one who'd eat them willingly. Nostalgia softens his expression, and lingers as he reaches up to carefully pick one of the riper-looking apples from a nearby branch. ]
The others will be pleased. They rave about how our meals have improved since you've started tending to our gardens.
We have. If we keep at it, it'll become even more.
[She says it confidently. She truly believes it. Things are complicated and they're difficult. Day to day life is very difficult, even. But every plant that flowers, every tree that begins to bear fruit feels like a small step in the right direction. It is a hard thing for her not to feel so connected to the world in such a way.
When he's put to purpose, she smiles. Her attention turns quickly onto a relatively wide bowl that she's clearly borrowed from the mess. It's what she uses every time she's gathering things from the garden. She's thought about just giving it to him, but instead, she decides she'd rather help. So with the bowl in tow, she moves to his side, carefully holding it in such a way that she can support it against her hip when it starts to get heavy.]
You can put them in here.
[Her smile remains, even grows, though she isn't completely sure of what the garden was like before Cid found her and encouraged her to take a position. As if he could see how much she was brimming with potential that she wasn't willing to share. He was such an insightful man. Not unlike Clive, she misses him.
Freeing a very quiet breath of her own memories, she adjusts her hold on the bowl.]
Anyone can do it, but a lot of people just assume they can't. Gardening is like anything else. Mistakes will get made, but that's just how things are. I like doing this, though, so I'm happy to. I love watching things grow. I love talking to them. I love thinking about what they'll get used for. And I love the earth, the way it smells when it's just a little wet, and the way it feels when I'm tending to it or planting something new.
[ A joint effort is as welcome as a call to arms. Aerith steps next to him with ease, and her presence helps Clive flow into the rhythm of the task. Without looking over his shoulder, he can feel that warm presence occupying space; his hands remain steady and sure as they move from branch to bowl.
His breath hums along his throat. Gentle acknowledgment, to soft words. ]
...They say that every skilled craftsman leaves something of themselves in what they create. I suppose gardening is much the same.
[ Turning a particularly well-shaped piece of fruit in his hand, he glances towards Aerith and beams at her, as if to say look. You did this. ]
Just as a sword well-loved by a blacksmith can cleave through most anything, something grown with love and care will taste sweet to the tongue. You've spoken to the earth, and it answered.
[ And isn't that a miracle? Far more impressive than crystals, far more important than magick. ]
[Clive hardly needs words to say everything. When he looks down to her, his blue eyes wandering from fruit to person. She gets it. And he has a point, perhaps. There is no shortage of care that Aerith has put into the garden. It's an easy thing to do, however, putting in that effort for the people who have given her safe refuge.
She cannot help but wonder how long she'll be safe, however. Maybe one day, she'll have to leave. Just to keep the others from getting caught up in her personal issues. For a moment, only one, she looks a little uncertain. But then it disappears just as quickly.]
One good turn deserves another. [Aerith is never too quick to accept compliments like that.] We're all working towards the same thing. We're creating this safe place, everyone has their skills, and we're all responsible for it. And everyone has their place. It just so happens that my place is here.
[ For a moment, just a moment― Clive's scrutiny deepens. He thinks he sees something familiar in Aerith, the same depth of pain and secrecy that his namesake held so close to his chest for so long. Cid, too, liked to stroll gently over the reality of his accomplishments and spoke in sweeping statements instead of the small, personal things that made him human; it's the one thing that Clive regrets deeply, in that brief, lightning-quick time he'd had with his mentor. Not knowing him better. Not asking.
Aerith isn't shy, but she doesn't seem to want to accept her virtues, either. It tugs at Clive's heart, and feels like a thorn in the back of his throat that he can't quite swallow.
Something to consider later. His focus eases, and he turns his attention back towards the sun filtering through the leaves above him. Green, green. ]
I can only hope that you know that it's a place that welcomes you.
[ Without judgment or distinction. Which is the kind of world that he wants to make, generally. Not just on this little floating ark in the middle of a lake. ]
[...Is he afraid that she doesn't know that? Has she given him that impression? For some beats, Aerith replays the conversations she can remember, specific ones and cryptic ones. Her general disposition. How she's carried herself in the presence of others. In the end, she concludes that Clive is a grade A worrier. He is likely worried about her.
It allows her to keep the smile that has made its home in her mouth. She should make sure she eliminates some of those concerns for him.]
I do know that. When I came here, I didn't know what to expect. I didn't imagine that I'd still be here now. It might not always be that way. Things tend to change, whether we want them to or not, but I'm grateful that this is the way things are right now.
[She looks between her bowl that he's steadily filling. At least with what he can. Then Aerith returns her gaze onto him. Using both of her hands to support the bowl now, using her head she nods to the tree.]
Let's leave some of the smaller ones. They're still growing and they'll be sour if we pick them now. We have some other things we can pick though, I think, and some of the plants and flowers could use a little pruning if you're not needed somewhere else.
[ Big Brother Syndrome. (Someday in the future, a beautiful young man who bears the same last name as Clive will spend the entire day gossiping about a certain Someone with Aerith, and they'll become fast friends.) Clive worries, and fusses, and becomes restless over others' comfort; it's simply the way he is.
Still, the promise that she feels welcomed takes the edge off of things, and allows Clive to hold himself a little less rigidly as he picks the last of the apples and lets nature take its course with the rest. ]
Thank you. [ It feels necessary to say, after being told that she chose to stay here despite Clive's initial blindly-fumbling attempts at making the Hideaway a home.
With that said, he dusts his gloved hands off, and pivots on his heels to face Aerith properly. ] ―My time is yours. You point, and I pick or prune.
[Her eyebrows raise. There he goes again. Aerith quietly laughs, though it's not at him. It's more the situation. How charming she finds it. It's just like him, isn't it. She doesn't even question it. Clive will be Clive. She wouldn't have it any other way.
Her head tips as he focuses on her more fully.]
Is it, now. [The way she chirps it out is just about the same teasing that he offers in her direction. She likes that he's beginning to grow comfortable doing that. It makes her feel more comfortable about teasing him to begin with.] I'll make sure it doesn't go to waste, then. But I'm betting whatever we do here probably won't be as taxing as what you normally do. We have the easy part, honestly. Molly has to clean and cut and prepare everything.
[But better Molly than Aerith, honestly. The girl can make stew out of what little scraps she can scrounge together, but Molly makes some downright pleasant meals.
With some effort, she supports the weight of the bowl against her as she guides Clive over to a bed of various plants which appear to be peppers, spices, and other garnishes. Just in the earth they smell pleasantly fragrant. They'll smell even better when picked and properly used. At the side of the bed, she sets down the bowl, dipping down to her knees, having very little care for getting dirty, and she adjusts the placement of the apples to make room.
Then with a hand, she gestures for Clive to join her.]
You haven't done anything like this before, I bet. Are you sure it's okay to get this involved? I'd be happy just having your company, you know.
[Going outside of the Hideaway to help gather supplies is a completely different experience than the one that Clive's invited her on. The boat trip has been pleasant. Maybe Obolus is a little more accustomed to more people being involved in these little trips. She's not certain what Clive told him, but she suspects that it...
Well. It is likely not exactly a secret the amount of time Clive and Aerith have been spending together lately. She'd like to say she's getting accustomed to the affectionate ribbing and she likely is as she keeps leaning into it. Maybe that's for the sake of flustering Clive. In moderation, anyway. She doesn't want him to become immune to those kinds of charms.
When they set foot on firm land and off the Argo, Aerith casts a look around and she takes a deep breath. It's so different. Clive's said he would take her close to Rosaria's borders. One day she'd like to see more of it, but she doesn't know how safe that is for either of them. Clive will know when that is better, though.
Bright green eyes take in everything. Despite what war has done to it, the land is still beautiful. Green and lush in some places. It's such a change from the Hideaway. It takes her some moments, many moments to really register she's there. Maybe it has been longer than she's realised.
Clearing her throat, she turned to Clive, like she's bringing herself back to the present. Trying to put aside any of her potential nerves, she tries to remind herself that Clive has ensured her safety. But maybe nothing will happen. Maybe it'll just be a time out sans incident.]
Where we were going? I remember you mentioning the vineyards at one point. Are those in this area?
[After a moment, Aerith smiles somewhat sheepishly.]
Sorry if that's a silly question. I haven't exactly been studying the maps very well.
[Maybe it's something she should do after they get back.]
[ Away from the smooth surfaces and rickety wooden foundations of the Invincible, the natural world spreads around them like emerald wildfire. Yet-Unblighted land bordering a Blight-infested lake, dimmed by marshland to the west, lit by sunlight to the east. It's a humbling thing every time, to step off their skiff onto terra firma and to feel the hum of the still-living earth under his feet; it's an exciting thing, privately, to share it with Aerith and her wide-eyed appreciation of the foreign sights.
Right. She must not know much of Storm, since she's from Ash. He turns from his examination of low-hanging trees nearby, and offers her a light touch of a smile as he tips his head at her question. ]
Not in the slightest. [ Regarding the silliness of her question. ] But, if you'd like, I could ask Vivian to show you our maps.
[ There he goes again, with his chronic need to set people up for success. He moves swiftly on from that, though, and beckons for Aerith to follow her through a bit of dense underbrush and towards the direction of a rather impressive bit of Fallen structure in the distance. A bonelike spire protruding up into the sky, like the innards of a grandfather clock stripped from its casing. ]
―That said, I am planning on taking you to the bales. Though nothing's set in stone－ if you see anything interesting, we can stop anytime.
Ash is a region that has... a lot of nothing. It's bleak and barren. Depressing. It, of course, wasn't always like that, but when she thinks of Ash now, she just thinks of the hollow shell of a land it once was. As a result, it is a hard thing for her not to be caught up in everything. It's not her first time out, of course, but the wonder never really leaves her.
It was a hard thing to appreciate when she was being tailed, after all.]
That seems like a good idea! I like learning.
[And one never knows when it'll come into handy. If she's planning to stay in Storm long term—and to be fair, not going back to Ash sounds like a wonderful idea—then she should take the time to really learn more about it.
Clive beckons and she follows without question. Trailing after him, she can spy the spire rising in the distance.]
I'm happy to go anywhere you want to take me. It's a little dangerous, though, don't you think? Telling me we can stop anytime. What if I find everything interesting? Like, that out there.
[At Clive's side, she lifts a hand and points right in the distance to the spire in question.]
[ The threat of discovery still looms large, but that's no different from every outing that Clive chooses to risk. An outlaw, a criminal, a former Branded runaway that might be discovered by an errant Sanbrequois soldier who may or may not have marched with Wyvern all those years ago－ Clive's presence always presents a risk, and the most he can do is be prepared for interference as they present themselves.
Aerith being beside him makes things a bit more complicated, admittedly. Especially if she's the one the mysterious third parties want, and not him. But he'll cross that bridge when it presents itself to him; for now, he can concentrate on showing Aerith a good time.
Glancing towards the trajectory of her hand: ]
That would be part of the town of Lostwing. It's been built around the ruins of a Fallen airship, much like our Invincible.
[ A testament to the resilience of humanity, to take the broken bits of a ruined civilization and to repurpose it centuries later. This, too, is something Clive loves about humans－ their ability to endure against odds.
He smiles, gesturing for Aerith to mind her step as they walk across a smooth, rounded bit of structure that serves as a bridge between sloped and slanted earth. ]
Has anyone ever told you the story behind the Invincible, by the way?
[ While they're on the subject. A bit of smalltalk. ]
[She says like it completely makes sense. It... does. In its own way, though really her own knowledge on such things is lacking. Not at all a surprise when he asks her what she does know. When he gestures, she does as he suggests and steps carefully, her gaze switching between her feet and the ground.
Eventually, Aerith's attention turns back onto Clive. Shaking her head, she smiles again. It's another one of those remarkably sheepish smiles. Like she knows how it might sound to someone who's more familiar with Storm. Native to Storm, even. But that's part of what this is for. She can't learn without asking. She can't learn without seeing it for herself.
This might be the perfect opportunity to do such a thing. Eventually, she shakes her head.]
Nnnnope. I might have heard a little of it without realising it, but I don't think there's a way I'd know that. I was hoping you would share more with me. If you don't mind, of course.
[ An opportunity for Aerith to see and learn, to live. To not be suffocated by the so-called safety of four walls and a ceiling; Clive has see what that did to his brother as a child, and how Joshua had always clamored for Clive to take him outside, even when he wasn't well enough to do anything but walk for a bit before his fits would start.
Aerith isn't quite so delicate, at the very least. He hops from structure back down to damp grass, and holds out a hand for Aerith to balance with if she needs it on her own way down. ]
I offered. [ Silly question. Of course he doesn't mind. ] Maeve would tell it better, but...
...Centuries ago, when the Fallen still ruled over sky and seas, two airship captains fought over which of their vessels was truly the superior one. They both claimed that theirs could fly closest to the sun, and when they put their claims to the test－
[ Gesturing with his free hand, indicating two ships flying higher and higher. ]
－They found themselves accosted by a flock of dragons. And thus, the two airships tried to outrun the drakes for forty days and forty nights, until the men and women of both collapsed from hunger and thirst.
[ An ignoble death. Clive has no idea if any of this is true－ he certainly hasn't run into any relics of dead Fallen on the ship－ but he goes on. ]
Without anyone to steer them true, the ships fell and landed in Bennumere, where they've been resting ever since. One of these ships, as it so happens, is our Invincible.
[She eyes his hand as she follows along, trying to make sure her skirts don't catch on anything. With a smile, she takes it. Whether she needs it to keep her actual balance or because she simply wants to hold his hand is really anyone's guess. The likelihood is that it's a bit of both.
Her expression is, as it sometimes can be in Clive's presence, a little sheepish. Maybe even goofy. Aerith is often full of wonder and life and humour, trying to add a little touch of levity into the world where she can. This moment is scarcely any different. In fact, it seems to be the side of herself that she prefers to share with everyone else.
As she steps after, using his hold to maintain her until she can more properly join him, she listens attentively, little shifts in the features of her face as he continues. Surprise. Awe. An amalgamation rainbow of many things. How exciting it must have been to be on an airship.
Well.
Until it went down, of course. There is something to be said about competition and ambition. By the end of it, she looks sympathetic. Somehow there are always innocents stuck in the world paying the price for captains and authority figures. She's not sure humanity has completely learned that lesson just yet. Or... maybe some of them just don't care. That's more probable.]
Oh... [She finally manages to say, her voice still touched with wonder and a characteristic imagination.] I wonder how many people at the hideaway know about that. All I knew was that it was an old ship. Surely when it landed originally— [Crashed, more like.] —the lake wasn't here. Or maybe it was all pure water.
[With a tilt of her head, Aerith squeezed Clive's hand.] The blight here is bad, isn't it. Was it like that when you were younger, too?
[ Most stories that have persisted about the Fallen have turned into parables and cautionary tales about the dangers of hubris, and the story of the Invincible is no exception. Clive watches Aerith watch him, steadying his grip in her hand as they cut across tall grass and soft ground towards the terraced hills of the Orabelle Downs. ]
I'm not sure about the lake― they say it was formed when a great dragon fell from the skies and created the basin upon impact. Whether the dragon came first or the airships did, it's hard to know.
[ They walk, and trees give way to a sloped clearing flooded with warm midday light. On either side of a main path that cuts through the middle of the clearing are well-maintained bushes arranged in neat rows, fenced and segmented by a careful hand; on the top of the hill overlooking the greenery are quaint houses fashioned in stone and wood, rustic and weathered but persisting.
Speaking of persisting, though. ]
...No. There was still much more greenery when I was a boy. I remember looking out from the ramparts of Castle Rosalith and seeing an expanse of life stretching far beyond, as far as the eye could see.
[ A wistful, melancholy half-smile. ]
Father had said that the Blight was creeping inwards, but I had no idea how close it'd come.
[Aerith is still wide-eyed and curious, wondering if these stories are exactly that—stories. She likes hearing about them, but there's no doubting that sometimes these kinds of things are just the tales parents tell their kids late at night when they're getting ready to rest.
Apparently that kind of thing is still quite effective on her. Or maybe Aerith has had a lack of stories told to her. Or maybe all of life feels like a story.]
Must have been a very, very impressive dragon.
[Massively so, even. That lake is huge.
When Clive talks about Rosalith, she listens intently, green eyes fixed on him attentively. Part of her is trying to imagine it. The thought of an excess of life leaves her warm. Will they ever see life like that return? She'd like that, but... Once again, that's complicated. She knows that it is.]
I don't think the Blight really takes into account where people are. Where animals are. It probably doesn't have the ability to think like that. [It's not as if it has sentience. It's a byproduct. It's a repercussion for something that shouldn't be. It's a consequence for luxury, perhaps, and irresponsibility in some cases.] I'm glad that not all places are taken by it, though. Things here feel a lot more full of hope. Ash is... it's really barren and empty. It looks so sad by comparison.
[It looks dead, honestly, but she doesn't have the heart to say it like that.]
[ Her assessment about the size of the dragon is met with an uptick of one brow, as coy as Clive can ever get. As if to suggest that yes, dragons really can get that big, though it's not like he's ever seen one quite as large as one that would have made a lake the size of Bennumere.
Moving swiftly on, though. He glances down at Aerith and her wide-eyed focus, and fancies that the emerald of her gaze looks even deeper in the company of their verdant surroundings. ]
We would have been far luckier if the Blight operated on some system of mercy. [ Not quite bitter, but in the sort of tone that suggests that the slow death of their planet has taken far too much from the people he cares about. It's tempered, however, by Aerith's somber observation about Ash, and he shifts to accommodate it. ]
...Though, you're right. I suppose Storm has been more blessed than Ash. [ A pause, as he sidesteps a particularly soft patch of dirt and leads Aerith away from it, not wanting her shoes to get too muddy. ] Though I can't say that I know much about that side of the Twins. Even my father didn't speak much of Ash, or of its king.
[Aerith shakes her head, seemingly apologetic.] It's not a competition. The Blight is bad, no matter where it is. No matter what it touches. The outcome ends up the same. Just because I get filled with wonder every time I see a place like this doesn't make it any better.
[The thought of Storm becoming just as empty as Ash is... It's terrifying, really. It's awful and horrible. Aerith wants every single overgrown place to continue being overgrown. She wants the people to have marshlands and vineyards and forests and real lakes filled with fish and potable water.]
Ash is... History books say that before Waloed was established that it was ruled by the Kingdom of Veldermarke. There were great battles that left their mark and the Blight was the result. There was another crystal on the continent, but when all of the aether was depleted, it shattered. That all happened before I was born, though. It must have been beautiful once upon a time, but the Ash I've known has never been like that.
[And Barnabas Tharmr... There are no shortage of stories about him. About some of the unique individuals and beliefs that are sometimes spread through the region. Aerith doesn't look like she knows what to make of them. There is, perhaps, a degree of truth in the folklore and myths that supposedly were left behind in aeons that long preceded them.
Harpocrates would likely know more.]
Your father was probably right not to say much of it. Ash's king is a... strange and intimidating man.
[ She speaks of Ash with wistfulness－ or, well, Clive thinks so, at least. With the sort of lingering hope that it might have been more, or might become more yet. A home that she can't return to, not in its current state, not as it stands.
Vestiges of wishes, untransferable. I shouldn't do that, she says, and Clive thinks he understands: there's a version of Rosaria that he wishes still existed, but it isn't productive to reflect on that while he looks at Rosaria now. What they can do, together, is see what can be done from here on out.
He squeezes her hand. It's a feeling he enjoys. ]
We might venture there one day. Ash, I mean. And when all of this is done, we might make a garden of it yet.
[ There, a little hope, before his expression pulls into tense neutral at the mention of Waloed's elusive king. ]
―If the strange and intimidating king allows it. If he remains on his throne when the last crystal shatters, that is.
[ Clive harbors no illusions about the current world order when they're free of the Mothercrystals. Equality will bring about discontent with the old; Barnabas Tharmr, a man who built his name on sword and steel, doesn't seem a man who can lead a nation in peacetime. ]
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flamebrand) wrote2023-10-31 01:24 am
In this, do trees flower and fruit. 🌺
Instead, returning to her oversimplified quarters which she would have allowed to become overgrown with plants and flowers, she spends most of the night thinking about Clive. Perhaps that is to be expected, all things considered. But eventually slumber claims her and the morning next, she greets with a warmed smile.
She'll see him eventually, but knows he has plenty on his plate already to handle. Has he, too, thought about her? In the same way, perhaps? Curiosity. Intrigue. Just the pure-of-heart desire to support and be supported alike. Aerith swears, as she leans over to water a particularly impressive fern-like plant, that she can still feel where he left a kiss on her cheek the night before.
Her garden in the Hideaway is, perhaps, more than what one might expect it to be, considering the waters surrounding them are more oft than not blighted and not fit for trying to encourage life to take root. Aerith manages, though, in ways seen and ways not. It's a very organised collective. A couple of growing trees that don't seem to be shy in bearing fruit. Some beds of flowers for no other reason than to be pretty. Beds for vegetables and spices, something to help give their food a little more flavour.
It is, unsurprisingly, one of her favourite places to be and easily the place she's most likely to be found.
As she offers a look up to an afternoon sky, she offers a friendly wave to a Charon who looks like she has a mission in mind. Somehow, it feels like Charon always does. Where some might find her a little hard to handle, Aerith is charmed by her blunt and tactless approach to many conversations and situations.
It's not for her, but that Charon sure is cool.]
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It stays with him, even after he wakes. Clive, like birdsong. Clive, like the chime of a bell. It stays with him through his morning briefing, through his conversation with Otto about future plans, through a quick interaction he has with Gav, who waves a hand in front of Clive's face and laughs about how someone might have had a drink too many the night prior.
Okay, fine. He concedes that he might be distracted, and that he should probably find the reason for his distraction before he accidentally steps off a half-finished platform and slips into blighted water. A moment to regroup, and he heads towards the gardens (narrowly missing Charon on her warpath― he doesn't ask) (for now), looking for the outline of the woman still on his mind, and the sound of Clive in her voice.
When he finds her, framed by trees and sunlight, he finds himself gentling despite himself. ]
Aerith. [ His lips curl upwards in greeting. ] ...Did you sleep well?
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When she's reaching for her watering can once more, she hears him. He needs only day her name and a peculiar little flutter seems to find life far beneath her composed surface. Goodness, she could listen to him speak for hours. Aerith wonders, for a beat, when she first began to think that. She doesn't seem to know.
Turning, she takes her time in assessing him. She's already smiling, but that curve in her mouth makes hers grow. She has to resist the temptation to gently scrape teeth over her bottom lip. He looks well, despite the idea that surely she kept him up way too late the night before. But she also imagines that if it was not her, something else might have. Someone with all of the responsibility he holds on his shoulder, probably doesn't find rest with ease.
Her head tilts and she stretches her arms over her head.]
Clive. [She finally begins, trying to emulate what she deems his very particular speaking habits. It is, as many things can be in her hands, a little laughable.] I did, yeah. Probably the nicest one I've had in a while.
[She doesn't need a lot of guesses as to why.]
I hope you were able to get some sleep. I know I kept you up too late. I'm sorry.
[For all that she so selfishly enjoyed herself, she really is apologetic.]
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Careful, Rosfield. For no other reason than to make sure he stays on-task, Clive clears his throat and shakes his head, forcing himself to concentrate on the content of Aerith's words rather than their delivery.
At the apology: ] Don't be. [ His circadian rhythm's been wrecked since he was a child― there's no reason for anyone to be sorry for the irregularity of his lifestyle. ] I was out like a light until Torgal woke me with his whining.
[ Gentle, mundane updates. It feels a luxury to be able to speak without consequence, and he laughs under his breath about it. ]
And now I'm here to be put to work. Don't be shy― you've permission to order me around.
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[She's referring more to herself when she says things like that. Aerith may be rather courageous, but her preexisting circumstances have left her often and perhaps overly careful in how she lives her life and addresses the people around her.
All the same, Clive seems to be in good spirits. When he makes mention that he's ready to work, she can't stop the laugh that escapes her. Amused, she appreciates him a few moments more.]
I wasn't aware you thought I was shy.
[Gently, she teases him, though she wonders if that's how she comes off. Shy. She was when she was younger. More sheltered. Not worldly enough and she still doesn't consider herself exactly worldly.
Aerith points up at a branch that he's walked under on his way just to get to her. The fruit trees are varied, though the one in immediate question seems to be apples. Some of the others have citrus and other region-local fruits.]
You can start by picking the things I can't get to, if you want. I'll be bringing them to the mess later for daily roundup. I'm going to see if I can convince Molly to bake some apples.
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But, essentially, he's happy to be bullied. (Affectionately.) He never thrives more than when he feels needed, and it's a pleasant thing, really, to be needed by someone who asks him for favors so sweetly.
Blue eyes follow the trajectory of Aerith's finger again, the same way they did the night before; this time, instead of stars, they focus on fruits. ]
Apples, [ he parrots. ] We've come a long way from our old Hideaway.
[ When the fruits were sour and Cid would be the only one who'd eat them willingly. Nostalgia softens his expression, and lingers as he reaches up to carefully pick one of the riper-looking apples from a nearby branch. ]
The others will be pleased. They rave about how our meals have improved since you've started tending to our gardens.
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[She says it confidently. She truly believes it. Things are complicated and they're difficult. Day to day life is very difficult, even. But every plant that flowers, every tree that begins to bear fruit feels like a small step in the right direction. It is a hard thing for her not to feel so connected to the world in such a way.
When he's put to purpose, she smiles. Her attention turns quickly onto a relatively wide bowl that she's clearly borrowed from the mess. It's what she uses every time she's gathering things from the garden. She's thought about just giving it to him, but instead, she decides she'd rather help. So with the bowl in tow, she moves to his side, carefully holding it in such a way that she can support it against her hip when it starts to get heavy.]
You can put them in here.
[Her smile remains, even grows, though she isn't completely sure of what the garden was like before Cid found her and encouraged her to take a position. As if he could see how much she was brimming with potential that she wasn't willing to share. He was such an insightful man. Not unlike Clive, she misses him.
Freeing a very quiet breath of her own memories, she adjusts her hold on the bowl.]
Anyone can do it, but a lot of people just assume they can't. Gardening is like anything else. Mistakes will get made, but that's just how things are. I like doing this, though, so I'm happy to. I love watching things grow. I love talking to them. I love thinking about what they'll get used for. And I love the earth, the way it smells when it's just a little wet, and the way it feels when I'm tending to it or planting something new.
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His breath hums along his throat. Gentle acknowledgment, to soft words. ]
...They say that every skilled craftsman leaves something of themselves in what they create. I suppose gardening is much the same.
[ Turning a particularly well-shaped piece of fruit in his hand, he glances towards Aerith and beams at her, as if to say look. You did this. ]
Just as a sword well-loved by a blacksmith can cleave through most anything, something grown with love and care will taste sweet to the tongue. You've spoken to the earth, and it answered.
[ And isn't that a miracle? Far more impressive than crystals, far more important than magick. ]
And now, we subsist off your care.
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She cannot help but wonder how long she'll be safe, however. Maybe one day, she'll have to leave. Just to keep the others from getting caught up in her personal issues. For a moment, only one, she looks a little uncertain. But then it disappears just as quickly.]
One good turn deserves another. [Aerith is never too quick to accept compliments like that.] We're all working towards the same thing. We're creating this safe place, everyone has their skills, and we're all responsible for it. And everyone has their place. It just so happens that my place is here.
[At least for now.]
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Aerith isn't shy, but she doesn't seem to want to accept her virtues, either. It tugs at Clive's heart, and feels like a thorn in the back of his throat that he can't quite swallow.
Something to consider later. His focus eases, and he turns his attention back towards the sun filtering through the leaves above him. Green, green. ]
I can only hope that you know that it's a place that welcomes you.
[ Without judgment or distinction. Which is the kind of world that he wants to make, generally. Not just on this little floating ark in the middle of a lake. ]
We're glad to have you, Aerith.
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It allows her to keep the smile that has made its home in her mouth. She should make sure she eliminates some of those concerns for him.]
I do know that. When I came here, I didn't know what to expect. I didn't imagine that I'd still be here now. It might not always be that way. Things tend to change, whether we want them to or not, but I'm grateful that this is the way things are right now.
[She looks between her bowl that he's steadily filling. At least with what he can. Then Aerith returns her gaze onto him. Using both of her hands to support the bowl now, using her head she nods to the tree.]
Let's leave some of the smaller ones. They're still growing and they'll be sour if we pick them now. We have some other things we can pick though, I think, and some of the plants and flowers could use a little pruning if you're not needed somewhere else.
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Still, the promise that she feels welcomed takes the edge off of things, and allows Clive to hold himself a little less rigidly as he picks the last of the apples and lets nature take its course with the rest. ]
Thank you. [ It feels necessary to say, after being told that she chose to stay here despite Clive's initial blindly-fumbling attempts at making the Hideaway a home.
With that said, he dusts his gloved hands off, and pivots on his heels to face Aerith properly. ] ―My time is yours. You point, and I pick or prune.
[ It's a verbal wink, of sorts. Playful. ]
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Her head tips as he focuses on her more fully.]
Is it, now. [The way she chirps it out is just about the same teasing that he offers in her direction. She likes that he's beginning to grow comfortable doing that. It makes her feel more comfortable about teasing him to begin with.] I'll make sure it doesn't go to waste, then. But I'm betting whatever we do here probably won't be as taxing as what you normally do. We have the easy part, honestly. Molly has to clean and cut and prepare everything.
[But better Molly than Aerith, honestly. The girl can make stew out of what little scraps she can scrounge together, but Molly makes some downright pleasant meals.
With some effort, she supports the weight of the bowl against her as she guides Clive over to a bed of various plants which appear to be peppers, spices, and other garnishes. Just in the earth they smell pleasantly fragrant. They'll smell even better when picked and properly used. At the side of the bed, she sets down the bowl, dipping down to her knees, having very little care for getting dirty, and she adjusts the placement of the apples to make room.
Then with a hand, she gestures for Clive to join her.]
You haven't done anything like this before, I bet. Are you sure it's okay to get this involved? I'd be happy just having your company, you know.
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🎀💕!
Adventure in the Great Beyond. 🌺
Well. It is likely not exactly a secret the amount of time Clive and Aerith have been spending together lately. She'd like to say she's getting accustomed to the affectionate ribbing and she likely is as she keeps leaning into it. Maybe that's for the sake of flustering Clive. In moderation, anyway. She doesn't want him to become immune to those kinds of charms.
When they set foot on firm land and off the Argo, Aerith casts a look around and she takes a deep breath. It's so different. Clive's said he would take her close to Rosaria's borders. One day she'd like to see more of it, but she doesn't know how safe that is for either of them. Clive will know when that is better, though.
Bright green eyes take in everything. Despite what war has done to it, the land is still beautiful. Green and lush in some places. It's such a change from the Hideaway. It takes her some moments, many moments to really register she's there. Maybe it has been longer than she's realised.
Clearing her throat, she turned to Clive, like she's bringing herself back to the present. Trying to put aside any of her potential nerves, she tries to remind herself that Clive has ensured her safety. But maybe nothing will happen. Maybe it'll just be a time out sans incident.]
Where we were going? I remember you mentioning the vineyards at one point. Are those in this area?
[After a moment, Aerith smiles somewhat sheepishly.]
Sorry if that's a silly question. I haven't exactly been studying the maps very well.
[Maybe it's something she should do after they get back.]
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Right. She must not know much of Storm, since she's from Ash. He turns from his examination of low-hanging trees nearby, and offers her a light touch of a smile as he tips his head at her question. ]
Not in the slightest. [ Regarding the silliness of her question. ] But, if you'd like, I could ask Vivian to show you our maps.
[ There he goes again, with his chronic need to set people up for success. He moves swiftly on from that, though, and beckons for Aerith to follow her through a bit of dense underbrush and towards the direction of a rather impressive bit of Fallen structure in the distance. A bonelike spire protruding up into the sky, like the innards of a grandfather clock stripped from its casing. ]
―That said, I am planning on taking you to the bales. Though nothing's set in stone－ if you see anything interesting, we can stop anytime.
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Ash is a region that has... a lot of nothing. It's bleak and barren. Depressing. It, of course, wasn't always like that, but when she thinks of Ash now, she just thinks of the hollow shell of a land it once was. As a result, it is a hard thing for her not to be caught up in everything. It's not her first time out, of course, but the wonder never really leaves her.
It was a hard thing to appreciate when she was being tailed, after all.]
That seems like a good idea! I like learning.
[And one never knows when it'll come into handy. If she's planning to stay in Storm long term—and to be fair, not going back to Ash sounds like a wonderful idea—then she should take the time to really learn more about it.
Clive beckons and she follows without question. Trailing after him, she can spy the spire rising in the distance.]
I'm happy to go anywhere you want to take me. It's a little dangerous, though, don't you think? Telling me we can stop anytime. What if I find everything interesting? Like, that out there.
[At Clive's side, she lifts a hand and points right in the distance to the spire in question.]
What's that? Can we go?
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Aerith being beside him makes things a bit more complicated, admittedly. Especially if she's the one the mysterious third parties want, and not him. But he'll cross that bridge when it presents itself to him; for now, he can concentrate on showing Aerith a good time.
Glancing towards the trajectory of her hand: ]
That would be part of the town of Lostwing. It's been built around the ruins of a Fallen airship, much like our Invincible.
[ A testament to the resilience of humanity, to take the broken bits of a ruined civilization and to repurpose it centuries later. This, too, is something Clive loves about humans－ their ability to endure against odds.
He smiles, gesturing for Aerith to mind her step as they walk across a smooth, rounded bit of structure that serves as a bridge between sloped and slanted earth. ]
Has anyone ever told you the story behind the Invincible, by the way?
[ While they're on the subject. A bit of smalltalk. ]
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[She says like it completely makes sense. It... does. In its own way, though really her own knowledge on such things is lacking. Not at all a surprise when he asks her what she does know. When he gestures, she does as he suggests and steps carefully, her gaze switching between her feet and the ground.
Eventually, Aerith's attention turns back onto Clive. Shaking her head, she smiles again. It's another one of those remarkably sheepish smiles. Like she knows how it might sound to someone who's more familiar with Storm. Native to Storm, even. But that's part of what this is for. She can't learn without asking. She can't learn without seeing it for herself.
This might be the perfect opportunity to do such a thing. Eventually, she shakes her head.]
Nnnnope. I might have heard a little of it without realising it, but I don't think there's a way I'd know that. I was hoping you would share more with me. If you don't mind, of course.
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Aerith isn't quite so delicate, at the very least. He hops from structure back down to damp grass, and holds out a hand for Aerith to balance with if she needs it on her own way down. ]
I offered. [ Silly question. Of course he doesn't mind. ] Maeve would tell it better, but...
...Centuries ago, when the Fallen still ruled over sky and seas, two airship captains fought over which of their vessels was truly the superior one. They both claimed that theirs could fly closest to the sun, and when they put their claims to the test－
[ Gesturing with his free hand, indicating two ships flying higher and higher. ]
－They found themselves accosted by a flock of dragons. And thus, the two airships tried to outrun the drakes for forty days and forty nights, until the men and women of both collapsed from hunger and thirst.
[ An ignoble death. Clive has no idea if any of this is true－ he certainly hasn't run into any relics of dead Fallen on the ship－ but he goes on. ]
Without anyone to steer them true, the ships fell and landed in Bennumere, where they've been resting ever since. One of these ships, as it so happens, is our Invincible.
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Her expression is, as it sometimes can be in Clive's presence, a little sheepish. Maybe even goofy. Aerith is often full of wonder and life and humour, trying to add a little touch of levity into the world where she can. This moment is scarcely any different. In fact, it seems to be the side of herself that she prefers to share with everyone else.
As she steps after, using his hold to maintain her until she can more properly join him, she listens attentively, little shifts in the features of her face as he continues. Surprise. Awe. An amalgamation rainbow of many things. How exciting it must have been to be on an airship.
Well.
Until it went down, of course. There is something to be said about competition and ambition. By the end of it, she looks sympathetic. Somehow there are always innocents stuck in the world paying the price for captains and authority figures. She's not sure humanity has completely learned that lesson just yet. Or... maybe some of them just don't care. That's more probable.]
Oh... [She finally manages to say, her voice still touched with wonder and a characteristic imagination.] I wonder how many people at the hideaway know about that. All I knew was that it was an old ship. Surely when it landed originally— [Crashed, more like.] —the lake wasn't here. Or maybe it was all pure water.
[With a tilt of her head, Aerith squeezed Clive's hand.] The blight here is bad, isn't it. Was it like that when you were younger, too?
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I'm not sure about the lake― they say it was formed when a great dragon fell from the skies and created the basin upon impact. Whether the dragon came first or the airships did, it's hard to know.
[ They walk, and trees give way to a sloped clearing flooded with warm midday light. On either side of a main path that cuts through the middle of the clearing are well-maintained bushes arranged in neat rows, fenced and segmented by a careful hand; on the top of the hill overlooking the greenery are quaint houses fashioned in stone and wood, rustic and weathered but persisting.
Speaking of persisting, though. ]
...No. There was still much more greenery when I was a boy. I remember looking out from the ramparts of Castle Rosalith and seeing an expanse of life stretching far beyond, as far as the eye could see.
[ A wistful, melancholy half-smile. ]
Father had said that the Blight was creeping inwards, but I had no idea how close it'd come.
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Apparently that kind of thing is still quite effective on her. Or maybe Aerith has had a lack of stories told to her. Or maybe all of life feels like a story.]
Must have been a very, very impressive dragon.
[Massively so, even. That lake is huge.
When Clive talks about Rosalith, she listens intently, green eyes fixed on him attentively. Part of her is trying to imagine it. The thought of an excess of life leaves her warm. Will they ever see life like that return? She'd like that, but... Once again, that's complicated. She knows that it is.]
I don't think the Blight really takes into account where people are. Where animals are. It probably doesn't have the ability to think like that. [It's not as if it has sentience. It's a byproduct. It's a repercussion for something that shouldn't be. It's a consequence for luxury, perhaps, and irresponsibility in some cases.] I'm glad that not all places are taken by it, though. Things here feel a lot more full of hope. Ash is... it's really barren and empty. It looks so sad by comparison.
[It looks dead, honestly, but she doesn't have the heart to say it like that.]
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Moving swiftly on, though. He glances down at Aerith and her wide-eyed focus, and fancies that the emerald of her gaze looks even deeper in the company of their verdant surroundings. ]
We would have been far luckier if the Blight operated on some system of mercy. [ Not quite bitter, but in the sort of tone that suggests that the slow death of their planet has taken far too much from the people he cares about. It's tempered, however, by Aerith's somber observation about Ash, and he shifts to accommodate it. ]
...Though, you're right. I suppose Storm has been more blessed than Ash. [ A pause, as he sidesteps a particularly soft patch of dirt and leads Aerith away from it, not wanting her shoes to get too muddy. ] Though I can't say that I know much about that side of the Twins. Even my father didn't speak much of Ash, or of its king.
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[Aerith shakes her head, seemingly apologetic.] It's not a competition. The Blight is bad, no matter where it is. No matter what it touches. The outcome ends up the same. Just because I get filled with wonder every time I see a place like this doesn't make it any better.
[The thought of Storm becoming just as empty as Ash is... It's terrifying, really. It's awful and horrible. Aerith wants every single overgrown place to continue being overgrown. She wants the people to have marshlands and vineyards and forests and real lakes filled with fish and potable water.]
Ash is... History books say that before Waloed was established that it was ruled by the Kingdom of Veldermarke. There were great battles that left their mark and the Blight was the result. There was another crystal on the continent, but when all of the aether was depleted, it shattered. That all happened before I was born, though. It must have been beautiful once upon a time, but the Ash I've known has never been like that.
[And Barnabas Tharmr... There are no shortage of stories about him. About some of the unique individuals and beliefs that are sometimes spread through the region. Aerith doesn't look like she knows what to make of them. There is, perhaps, a degree of truth in the folklore and myths that supposedly were left behind in aeons that long preceded them.
Harpocrates would likely know more.]
Your father was probably right not to say much of it. Ash's king is a... strange and intimidating man.
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Vestiges of wishes, untransferable. I shouldn't do that, she says, and Clive thinks he understands: there's a version of Rosaria that he wishes still existed, but it isn't productive to reflect on that while he looks at Rosaria now. What they can do, together, is see what can be done from here on out.
He squeezes her hand. It's a feeling he enjoys. ]
We might venture there one day. Ash, I mean. And when all of this is done, we might make a garden of it yet.
[ There, a little hope, before his expression pulls into tense neutral at the mention of Waloed's elusive king. ]
―If the strange and intimidating king allows it. If he remains on his throne when the last crystal shatters, that is.
[ Clive harbors no illusions about the current world order when they're free of the Mothercrystals. Equality will bring about discontent with the old; Barnabas Tharmr, a man who built his name on sword and steel, doesn't seem a man who can lead a nation in peacetime. ]
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