Two fics, one post, and some cosplay nattering.
First off, ficpost. Springkink of much anticipation.
1st -- Albert and Yuber -- Caveat Emptor, NC-17, 170 words
2nd -- Ashe and Basch, 1 -- Queen of Morning, R, 460 words
3rd -- Gabranth and Drace -- Cocoa, Prepackaged and Sweetened, R. 1250 words
8th -- Franz and Albert -- Say It, NC-17. 130 words
9th -- Ashe and Basch, 2 -- Pause, PG, 1000 words
11th -- Ashley and Sydney -- After, PG, 300 words
12th -- Ashe and Basch, 3 -- Justification, PG, 1650 words
15th -- Medusa and Black Bolt -- Twined, NC-17, 270 words.
25th -- Vayne and Ashe -- An Extension of Goodwill, NC-17, 1000 words.
26th -- Son -- FFXII, PG, 900 words. A tournament, postgame. And a surprise as to character/pairing/whathaveyou. You Want To Read This Fic. And by that I mean I want you to read this fic. For the manipulativeness, if nothing else.
28th -- Griffith and Judeau
29th -- Ashe and Vossler
30th -- Ashe and Basch, 4
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Cosplay nattering.
So the schedule looks something like this:
November, AUSA -- Drace.
February, Katsucon -- Griffith, with Boots as Charlotte. We have a skit idea--we really, really want a Caska and a Gutts. I mean, really. Any takers?
March/April, Tekkoshocon -- Gizel?
May, ACen -- Vossler?
August, Otakon -- the Rat, part deux; Gabranth, for Howie.
Talk about living a dream, huh. Where the heck am I acquiring the funds for this. At least it's all craft-foam-and-metal-and-paint-centric, low-fabric, and I will only need one new wig. But still.
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Second ficthing -- Vayne II, Part I, act II. Three scenes--Vayne playing Castellan with Miran, Zargy, and Zecht -- Caleb getting whupped by Ghis and lambasted by Gramis -- and Vayne and Al-Cid, as teenagers, discussing policy.
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II.i
[Miran, Zargabaath, Zecht, and Vayne at Castellan. Gabranth and Bergan to the side.]
ZECHT: Whoreson.
MIRAN: When your losses are to me, they are still to your credit, Your Honor.
ZECHT: Too true. And I do feel a measure of pride that my charge has surpassed me, as he surpassed childhood not too long ago.
[Vayne’s next move is strong.]
MIRAN: Save such flattery for Vayne.
ZECHT: Vayne has been besting us all at this game since before his nails grew long enough to turn the tiles. It no longer surprises me or anyone else.
MIRAN: Hear that, Vayne? Perhaps you ought to practice losing once in a while, throw off your opponent.
VAYNE: Or hold that skill in reserve so that the gesture retains its significance. I am confident enough in my ability to lose that I doubt I will have trouble-should the time come-graciously accepting defeat.
ZARGABAATH: And by “graciously accept defeat” you mean “stand in fish-mouthed awe as the singular being to best you balks at his own success.
ZECHT: Ha, or hers, if Miran tells true of the little princess in our midst.
MIRAN: Would I lie of such a thing? The girl seems southron-bent on getting under Vayne’s skin, and he not so averse to it.
VAYNE: Touch me not.
MIRAN: Merely a preview of that girl’s evident desire.
VAYNE: I kick stronger than you ever will.
MIRAN: And with less compunction.
VAYNE: You forget, Miran, that I know you for the snake you are, and no serpent’s lack of limbs has deterred me from crushing it in the grass.
[Miran stay Zargabaath’s next move with a gesture.]
MIRAN: If neither of Your Honors minds.
[Zargabaath and Zecht assent.]
MIRAN: [to Vayne] Lose to me.
VAYNE: What is the challenge in that?
MIRAN: You are ahead now. See if you can force my and Their Honors’ hands to surpass yours, with what tiles we have left. Make the worst possible moves for yourself, the best for us.
VAYNE: This is only another kind of winning. This I know already.
MIRAN: Craven.
VAYNE: And that, Miran, is another case of my loss turned to my gain. Say I accept your jeering; I retain my status as the better man for not sinking so low.
ZECHT: Too many years as the youngest brother, amounting to a lesson full-learned.
VAYNE: [to Miran] In that case, I will endure your challenge, not your jibe.
MIRAN: Good lad.
ZARGABAATH: [to Miran] And are you playing to win, or to win against Lord Vayne?
MIRAN: What is best about this wager is that either way, I win.
[They play.]
MIRAN: I want to see him succeed. After all, he will be the king of the sandrats one day. Best for us all if he leans to welcome such losses. Better still if he learns to orchestrate them.
ZARGABAATH: You brew a noxious poison, Miran.
VAYNE: He does nothing of the kind. It is merely blood, spit, air. His very hiss is threaded with it.
MIRAN: Well-played.
[Scene.]
II.ii
[Enter Caleb, then Gramis with Ghis.]
CALEB: My lord father, you could not be more insulting. This suggestion. I would protest it even if it was an outright edict. This. This is outrageous.
GRAMIS: Your friendship with the sons of Margrace is no trifle. It is something fortuitous, for the Motherland, for us all, and you might do her most honor, earn her most peace-
CALEB: As language-crippled tribute.
GRAMIS: Not so.
CALEB: If you wish to be rid of me, then do as you did to your brothers when you wished the same of them.
[Ghis draws his blades.]
GRAMIS: And as you plan to do to yours?
CALEB: The difference between you and I, lord father, is that I love the land too much to wed it. You and I both know that I am ill-equipped for rule. Why, I haven’t got a leg to stand on.
GRAMIS: Your brother Miran is twice the man you are at half the height. The more you slander him, the lesser you appear in my eyes.
CALEB: I have not threatened you yet.
[Ghis levels his blades.]
GRAMIS: Nor shall you.
GHIS: Perhaps you are right, Lord Caleb, that you would not do for a diplomat. Friendship, after all, does not equate to tact, and of the latter you have evidently none.
CALEB: Put your tongue in the same sheath as your fan, Your Honor.
GHIS: Your ilk will never command mine.
GRAMIS: Console yourself, Caleb, with that your mere presence is weapon enough to elicit accusations of treason. Were you not my blood, yours would be here spilt.
[Ghis lets down.]
CALEB: So your heart has changed, lord father, in the years since fratricide. Look to the law, Your Honor Ghis; once acquitted, yet twice accused?
GHIS: Your audacity is the only commendable quality you possess.
GRAMIS: Caleb. You are entirely correct that I do not have any intention of naming you heir. You spelled the death of that hope long ago, and you have done naught but speed its rot since. But you cannot fault me for endeavoring to instate you in a position that would suit you, and permit you to serve the land you claim to love so well. And it is toward that end I mean to send you to Rozarria as ambassador, for yourself, for the Motherland.
GHIS: Being rid of you is merely windfall.
[Caleb strikes out at Ghis. Ghis bests him with little effort.]
GRAMIS: Desist with this before the ceremony. I will not have you end this age of peace before it too can reach its Naming day.
[Exit Gramis and Ghis. Caleb, alone. Exit. Scene.]
II.iii
[Vayne behind a dressing-screen. Bergan, forward.]
[A knock.]
BERGAN: Who asks?
GABRANTH: [off] Al-Cid Margrace.
VAYNE: Permit him.
[enter Al-Cid]
AL-CID: You know me not, and yet behave so graciously. I thank you, son of Solidor, for this undue courtesy.
VAYNE: [emerges] You need not humble yourself so; in fact, I find it offensive that you do. State your case.
AL-CID: Already you take me for a petitioner before your throne. Absolve that I find this amusing.
VAYNE: Toward what other end would you seek me out, second son of Margrace yet first in his heart? In these last hours, yours is far from the first attempt to secure my allegiance in the coming age, and not the most subtle.
AL-CID: To the point, then, though I would desire your friendship, and not only for the benefit of my family.
VAYNE: Your family has the friendship of my brother.
AL-CID: And a fat lot of good that does us all.
[Bergan is to the door, and listens out it.]
AL-CID: I have already dispatched men to thwart my brother’s complicity in this scheme. I know not his motivation, nor your brother’s, but never has a camouflaged detachment of mercenaries meant well for its destination.
VAYNE: In whose colors?
Al-CID: Dalmascan blue and gold.
BERGAN: The cur.
AL-CID: If there must be war between our empires-if there must-I would have it begin honestly, and with true quarrel. An open war is tragedy enough when it begins with greater good in mind. My generation has no feud with yours. Why start this? Why destroy what we have wrought?
VAYNE: What has my brother done?
AL-CID: This I know not. But you can infer, as I have inferred.
VAYNE: He cannot kill Miran.
AL-CID: And will not bother with you, or your lord father.
VAYNE: You need not say it.
AL-CID: My-
VAYNE: Take your leave.
AL-CID: But we can better prevent this in concert.
VAYNE: We are.
AL-CID: I have a vision, son of Solidor; that the sins of our fathers do not alight on the coming generation. That we may be pure of heart and purer of intent, and all desire peace, when the world is ours. That we not be covetous. That we not be insecure. That we may be strong without becoming stained.
VAYNE: No Solidor has a place in this vision, son of Margrace.
AL-CID: Oh, but you do. You, and the heirs of Dalmasca, and of Nabradia, and of all other steads caught between our great nations. And our brothers too, save perhaps that damnable Caleb-you are not your father.
VAYNE: But we honor him. Take your leave, son of Margrace. I will not ask again.
AL-CID: And if I stay, beyond your last request?
VAYNE: Then Bergan will ask, and he is a man of fewer words than I.
[Exit Al-Cid.]
BERGAN: To the fete?
VAYNE: To the fete.
[Exit Vayne and Bergan. Scene. Act.]