travelerscurse | There's a price to pay and a consequence

There's a price to pay and a consequence - for darlingdatura

There's protocol to be observed, both as a field agent returning from the field and as an "Imperial deserter" come to join the rising tide of resistance in Ala Mhigo. But the first thing he does the moment all of that is taken care of is secure a change of clothes out of his uniform and a bath. The bath is in a river and the clothes are simple, used but not quite threadbare yet, but it's a start. He's never liked the more "advanced" Garlean fabrics even without the farce of putting him in a soldier's uniform and it's a relief to be back in something organic, homespun, a comfort he didn't know he was missing until he had it again.

Food is next and the most difficult. He has no money, not that would be good here, anyway, and has traded what he carried for what he has gotten so far. He's down to the clothes on his back, his bow, and his instruments and none of them are things he's willing to give up.

So old habits die hard, perhaps, or maybe it's more like riding a chocobo, you don't forget, or maybe, just maybe, this is it's own form of homecoming. Whatever the reason, he finds himself singing for his supper just like he used to years ago, moving from place to place in a Calamity-pocked world, helping where he could, working where there was work. His voice is somewhat out of service like this, but it's good enough for some tavern songs and the quickly erected pavilion tent does seem to become a tavern once he starts, hopefully making the owner a bit more gil than normal, enough to off-set his own meal and mead, meager though it may be.

He's mostly been playing the violin. It and the harp are his favorites, for their ability to both allow him to sing with them and their ability to keep a tune all on their own where he needs to rest his voice, but the harp is a bit too calm for a place like this. The violin is soothing without being overbearing, and he can fiddle with it when he needs to.

It's shaping up to be a good enough evening, a balm to a soul that has seen precious little of music these past two years in Ilsabard.

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It wasn't too often that Mikka had enough downtime to actually take his time with meals like this, barring when travel forced his hand. Even more rarely to be left to his own devices without some Scion or the other lingering with him, but then they were all hard at work at the moment. Had urged him to get a meal and rest up, given there wasn't much for him to help with until more information was gathered. it meant that he was left be in the tent without someone else to draw the eye, settled at one of the small makeshift tables that had been brought out, his carbuncle bundled into his lap as he poked at his food. He knew he needed to eat, and he would but even in this rare moment of respite with the flow of music in the air, he was still quite the bundle of nerves which certainly didn't help the little miqo'te keep an appetite in the least.

Gustavain has a rare and strange gift, one that has served him well as a bard and perhaps better as a spy. With a hint of concentration, a room to him is as a piece of music, itself, a sea of harmonies that he has learned, with practice, to read like a book, to know precisely when to lift the mood or quell it, to pull discordant melodies out of even the most stoic of individuals. He reads the hearts of the people in a room, can't understand words like so many others can, but can feel all the same.

He's nowhere near as eloquent in speech as song, he'll never be a diplomat, but he's a canary in a coal mine for tense situations, able to read a situation about to turn south long before it's even properly on it's way there. And, in a place like this, it's almost self-hypnotic, a sea he can float on, pulling his next song from the flow of the crowd, the beat of the hearts around him, moving together for a time.

So the single, warped bit of the tapestry that is a Miqo'te bundle of nerves is something he feels keenly as he settles. It continues, out of sync with the rest of everyone, until he finishes his current set and he cannot help but go speak with the owners for a moment, coming over a few minutes later with a steaming cup of... something that he sets down in front of Mikka.

"Lavender and honey," he says, before he's asked why he's giving a drink to a strange person in a bar. His smile is gentle and he sips at his own mug a moment, "It's good for the throat, but it's also just calming in general," the smile widens a fraction, "You look like you're about to fidget out of your skin." it's probably the poor young man's first battle, from the looks of it. Nothing to be ashamed of. Gustavain has fought enough of them and even he finds himself grateful for the excuse of having to entertain, to keep his mind off of things.

It's likely telling how into his own head the little keeper is that he doesn't realize the other's approach until the cup is set down. That earns a small, subtle start from him, gaze flicking up at the stranger as he flushes faintly realizing it was the bard who'd been playing not long before.

"O-oh. Thank you-" He managed after a moment, with a small, shy sort of smile. His carbuncle didn't seem to share that bashfulness, just planting small paws onto the table to sniff at the cup, even going so far as to stick her face in to taste, despite the soft, sheepish protest from her summoner before she flopped back into his lap, still peering at the bard from over the edge of the table regardless.

"Sorry, Zaika is... well she's spirited." Mikka apologized as he took the cup. Not saying but relieved a bit that she'd done that- he'd become so much more anxious about accepting drinks, had gotten better with things he'd seen were sealed before being poured but open cups offered still made him nervous. But she'd not indicated a thing wrong, so he felt alright taking a sip with a wry chuckle. "Here I was hoping my nerves weren't quite so apparent..."

Gustavain's smile softens to match and then breaks into a delighted grin again when the carbuncle goes for the tea,

"She's adorable, you mean. Does she like pets?" he's never actually seen someone with a carbuncle that adventurous, but he's not going to turn down the opportunity any more than he would pass up the chance to pet any adorable animal, holding out his hand to be inspected.

"Hmm. Normally I'd say you've nothing to worry about in that regard. Reading a room comes with the territory, so to speak," it's a lie, but it's close enough to the truth for casual conversation, an easy one to tell he's told it so much to explain how he's able to do what he does, "But pushing your food around on your plate on the near eve of battle is a sure a sign as any to follow, if one cares to look."

There's a clear brightening in the miqo'te, however small it is at the commentary on his beloved carbuncle. Who clearly did like pets if the way she immediately stretched to snuffle at his hand with her little black nose before thumping at his palm with her forehead was any hint at all.

"She adores pets." Mikka replied with a soft chuckle, watching the interaction fondly. Even if he flushed a bit at the obvious signs pointed out, ears flickering.

"Ah... yes I imagine that would be quite the obvious marker." His tone was wry as he settled back some. "To be fair I'm fairly sure if I've not lost my pre-battle jitters by now, it's not likely to happen any time soon."

Gustavain laughs at the carbuncle's antics and tries out both more normal pets and skritches, under her chin and cheeks, clearly charmed utterly.

"Well aren't you lovely," he coos at her for a moment before he turns back to the conversation at hand, though he doesn't immediately look up from his new task, assimilating the new information that this wasn't a green recruit, clearly. He looks entirely too young to have more than one battle under his belt, but then, they've lived in interesting times, all of them, haven't they?

"I try not to worry too much about it," he says, after a moment, "Halone chooses when to beckon people home to her halls. It hardly needs a battle to get the call, nor any special day."

She absolutely was lovely, thank you for noticing! Zaika was positively soaking up the attention, big eyes closed down to slits as she leaned into those cheek rubs, utterly content and blissful.

"A fair point..." Mikka mused, peering down at the cup in his hands. "It's not so much my safety I fear for... more those who might come to harm should I falter."

It terrified him to be fair. The idea that a mistake on his part could spell so much destruction and despair in those who put faith in him, for all the bard could likely assume that worry was for the people he might fight alongside rather than anything so far-reaching as the truth of it.

"Hm," he finally looks up from Zaika for a moment, though he continues to lavish her with attention all the same, "I won't tell you something trite about any of this," he says after a moment, "I like not our chances, if I'm honest. But a battle isn't won or lost on any single person. If I die because you faltered, it is because I also was overextended. That is no fault of your own."

And then, because he does not, cannot know the truth of it, but he can feel that there's something else there, wound into the melody,

"If we fail and people die for that failing, surely they would have come to harm anyway. We fight for a cause that is hardly painted in shades of grey, not anymore. Or at least, I believe that. And I think any man or woman here would agree with me. If we fail, it will not be because we did not believe, or that we did not try. There is no shame in that."

Mikka was... realizing that the elezen didn't know who he was. Not terribly rare- he certainly didn't have the look of a vaunted hero after all. But increasingly so as time passed, so there was something of a relief in the idea as well, the idea that he could simply be himself to someone without the weight of their expectations of what he would or should be weighing on his thoughts.

"Aye... you've likely the right of it," Mikka murmured, with a soft, wry smile. "I think I just have a terrible habit of twisting myself into the worst knots over things. Zaika would likely tell you of how tiring it is to her, were she able to speak."

He chuckles to that, softly, looking back down at the carbuncle,

"Is that what you would say, my dear?" he rubs under her chin, smiling softly.

"I learned a long time ago that there are things that are within my control and things that are not," he adds, after a moment, "Those things are rarely what I wish or think they should be," he chuckles, "but what can you do? All we can do is sing the song we're given," he looks back up and there's a hint of a smirk on his face,

"Well, and embellish as we see fit, I suppose, else I'm in trouble."

From the little chirr she let out, it absolutely was. Her summoner could be exhausting sometimes, it was all she could do to cope!

"At least one of us has a sensible head about them." Mikka hummed, feeling a bit heartened as he chuckled, both from watching Zaika and the bard interact, as well as the conversation giving him something to chew on. "Though a hunch tells me you'd like as not embellish as you saw fit regardless if you should or no."

He's absolutely charmed by the tiny creature and she clearly knows when she's got someone wrapped around her paws. He lets himself be directed to where she wants more pets or skritches with a gently indulgent expression, a soft, sweet counterpoint to the seriousness of the his life view which, while possibly better than fretting is clearly fairly fatalistic all the same.

He laughs at the light teasing, freer than he has in some time,

"I'll not try to deny it. If I don't have enough stories for at least ten men by the time I finally rest in Halone's halls, my sister will likely box my ears for it. I've little love to rushing into danger, but adventure? Well, I could hardly say no."

Oh Zaika was well aware when she had an appreciative audience to perform for, and was entirely happy to accept his pets and attention. The carbuncle was entirely spoiled, for all other arcanists warned Mikka against it, he couldn't help but indulge her.

"Goodness, ten men? You've quite the task ahead, lest your sister make quick work of you." Mikka murmured with a soft smile at the laughter. "Would that I had a tenth of your wont for adventure, maybe I wouldn't be quite so anxious. Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll rub off on me."

"Ser, I think if you had no head for adventure, you wouldn't be here, yes?" he points out, "You don't seem Ala Mhigan. So there must be something to bring you here, else you would be in a comfortable bed somewhere, I'd wager."

He looks back up at the last with a look that's softly sly,

"Well, the best way to make sure of that is invite me for a drink or two, once I've run my throat ragged on another series of songs for this lot," he gestures to the inn. It's clearly manipulative, but so open about it that it's hard to call it anything bad, particularly with Zaika just about laying down in his hands. He looks back down at her,

"My apologies, tiny one, but some of us have to earn our suppers the hard way," then back up to Mikka, "I'm Gustavain, by the way. Pleased to meet you," and then, pointing at the drink, "Don't let it get cold. It doesn't taste nearly as good."

"I... suppose that's a fair point." Mikka admitted with a faint flush staining pale features.

Especially at that sly sort of comment that follows, ears pricking as the miqo'te looks utterly flummoxed by the playful invitation. But then he was enjoying talking to him... and Zaika, ever his barometer, seemed to like him well enough...

"Once you're free of your obligation then." He managed to keep his voice from squeaking at least, even as Zaika reluctantly retreated back to her summoner's lap. "I'm Mikka. Good to meet you too."

He sings another handful of songs to the crowd, then sings a few more when he tries to stop and they beg him to keep going. It's clear to see his command over them, how easily he slides the mood from bolstering to heroic to calming to bawdy. There's definitely a song or two in there about taking lovers to bed, or pining after lovers to take to bed, that are bound to make a certain shy Miqo'te blush. Possibly for more than one reason, considering how crooning and seductive Gustavain's voice goes for those.

He ends with a calming, lighthearted kind of song and then waves off other attempts, promises that he'll sing them all songs of victory tomorrow. Shortly thereafter, he's getting his sung-for dinner and all but collapsing in the chair in front of Mikka, equal parts riding high on performance and clearly exhausted.

Mikka still has his worries- it would take more than a single conversation with a friendly stranger to truly banish them, but he's not nearly so tense and consumed by them as he was before, better able to relax a bit and enjoy the performance.

And to blush incessantly at those songs just like Gustavain had suspected he would.

But he smiled when the Elezen returns with his meal, clearly pleased to see him again. As was Zaika, leaning out to sniff curiously, probably weighing if she could beg a morsel or two off of him. She didn't need to eat but that never stopped her, greedy thing that she was.

"You're quite the performer."

It's his turn to blush, clearly pleased at the compliment, and duck his head slightly,

"It's served me well enough," it's clearly said with modesty, he's exceptionally talented, perhaps more in how he controls a room than his actual musical ability, though he's quite good all the same. "I'm glad that others seem to enjoy it." He looks down at Zaika, "Let a man eat first, little one. I'm sure there'll be some left for you," he reaches out the hand not holding his fork and skritches her again. "I'd be going hungry tonight without it, I'm afraid. All the money in Mor Dhona is of no help to me here. But this wouldn't be the first time. If anything, it takes me back," he grins, "Singing in taverns is how I got my adventuring start."

"What about yourself? What brings you out here to help what some are calling a lost cause." The way he says it makes it clear he doesn't agree.

"Don't let the little glutton fool you." Mikka teased, rubbing Zaika's ears to soothe any sting to the comment, unsurprised when he was snubbed for Gustavain's petting instead. "She's no starving waif."

The Miqo'te settled back with a smile at the idea of it, of the Elezen fresh-faced and singing for his supper just like he had here, in taverns elsewhere. It was a charming thought, really.

"Because... I can." He glanced down at his hands, contemplative. "People are suffering, and I've some ability to help... why shouldn't I?"

"A fine enough reason for me," he says with a nod, possibly one of the easiest acquiescences Mikka's ever had to something like that, if his hesitance is any indication, "I'm much the same, though it's more that I felt I had more to give here than where I was." He's not in the habit of telling random people he meets in bars that he's one of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and he's not about to start now. He's checked in with his contact, here, of course, but he's been in service as a spy and they may want to keep him as such. Best to keep his affiliations close to his chest.

Even so, he's never felt the need to completely hide away and this is no exception.

"It's an equally fine thing," he adds, "to be afraid of something and to do it anyway."

Those who didn't know what he was? Certainly tended to question that answer. Assumed as shy and gentle as he was that he was far too fragile to handle this sort of thing. And while he often worried that he might be, somehow he'd held together this long. It was heartening to hear that easy acceptance from the Elezen, a small smile crossing his face as he relaxed a bit when he didn't find himself having to defend his choice. Unaware of the bard's affiliation, but then there were so many Scions that he'd yet to meet. So many that he might never meet.

He can't help the blush at the comment that followed, gaze flicking back up at Gustavain, ears pricked. "This... must be the finest thing I've done yet then, by that reckoning."

Gustavain does wonder about what the young man is here to do. That he's an arcanist is clear enough to a fellow adventurer and his demeanor suggests a focus in healing. But he does seem ill-suited for the battlefield, even knowing that this isn't his first one.

Still, it's also not Gustavain's to judge. Though he's been hardened by his time in the world since the Calamity, looks strong if not particularly like a warrior of any sort, he's also been judged plenty for not looking or acting the part. It's part of what makes him an effective infiltrator-- he looks very much like he wears his heart on his sleeve because he mostly does. He's been told he's too gentle a soul for fighting before, as well, and he's wary of making the same judgement on someone else.

"It's certainly nothing to be done idly," he says with a nod, "There's no shame in fear," he adds, gently, after a bite of the stew, "You would be foolish to not be afraid." He chuckles softly, shakes his head, "I suppose most people would tell you to not worry, that everything will turn out alright. But I tend to find pragmatism settles my heart more than blind optimism. It will be a hard battle and people aren't going to go home from it. But I feel it is a necessary one. And if you have that conviction as well, then why fret about it. What will happen will happen. You've already decided not to run from it-- why second guess yourself?"

"I... sometimes feel it's a thing I can't admit, lest I... disappoint others. Or remind them of their own fear, infectious as it can be." A safe enough way to describe his worries, things he seemed almost hesitant to admit, even under the safety of anonymity.

Zaika certainly seemed to sense his unease, extracting from her subtle begging for treats or attention from Gustavain to squirm back and headbutt up under Mikka's chin, earning a soft chuckle from him as arms slid around her. "I think Zaika agrees with you though... that I should quit second guessing."

"To hold fear in because you don't wish others to be afraid is noble. But if someone were to be disappointed that you were afraid of the coming battle, that's a failing in them, not in you. You are here, are you not? What further proof of your commitment would anyone ask of you? What further proof of valor?" he grins brightly, "Let foolish men think they have certain victory. I prefer to accept how much I will likely have to work for mine. I plan to make it through this, fear or no."

He finishes a few more bites of the stew and then holds a carrot out on a fork to Zaika, his arms long enough and the table small enough that she doesn't have to leave Mikka's arms, though perhaps the gesture is a bit more intimate for it.

"She's wise, then. You aren't dead yet, after all," he points out and he does mean Mikka personally, but he also means the whole of the battle. No one is dead yet. Nothing yet has been lost.

The Elezen's comments were pragmatic, even fatalistic it was true... but Mikka found comfort in them regardless. There was something grounding about the idea of accepting that things would be difficult, but forging ahead regardless.

He smiled, both for that and for the way Zaika squirmed immediately to accept that morsel, nibbling daintily. "I rather like your plan, to be honest."

And it was no lie, both from the general idea that he wouldn't like to hear of anyone dying, for all he knew it would happen, as well as the fact that he was coming to like Gustavain as well. "I suppose that means I'd best plan to make it through too, or I'll never hear the end of it."

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