Ficlet: Serendipitous
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finalfantasyxivfanworksTitle: Serendipitous
Characters: Warrior of Light, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warning: Mention of drowning, looting dead bodies
Seafoam frothed around Bluebird’s shins as she waded through the remains of a recent shipwreck, not yet picked at the numerous vultures that roamed along the Ruby Sea coastline. It looked to be a medium-sized ship, either a small merchant vessel that got extremely lost, or a swift privateering one from Vylbrand that caught the Confederates in a bad mood. The smashed hull was clamped tight between twin jagged rocks that jutted out of the shallows like fangs, dull grey and biting deep into the shattered wood. The masts were completely gone, snapped off like twigs, and littering the coast, being gently lapped ashore by the placid tide, were numerous crates, boxes and bodies.
Quite a lot of bodies.
One particular corpse bobbed close by Bluebird, and she waded in a bit deeper to take a closer look. The body was fresh enough that it hadn’t bloated yet, but it was still a little ripe as she rolled it over onto its back. A swarthy Roegadyn, clearly drowned, dressed in light armour with a firearm still holstered to his belt. Bluebird purloined that quick.
“Limsan,” she decided, pushing the corpse away once she realised there was nothing else of value on it. She recognised the tattoo on his bicep, “More of them around here these days.”
Hooking her new pistol to her belt after checking it over – a bit waterlogged, but after some drying and quick maintenance, it should be workable – Bluebird moved further down the coastline, the wrecked ship an ominous shadow looming in her peripheral.
“Oi, Aza,” she called, rounding a cluster of crates that had been dragged onto the beach proper. In the middle of this sort-of circle of ill-gotten cargo, her brother was leaning deep into an opened crate so the only thing she could see was his wriggling bum and swishing tail, “Find anything good?”
“Nothing yet,” Aza sighed, his voice echoing oddly within the crate before he straightened up. He swiped his damp brow with the back of his hand, his fingers scratched and reddened from forcing open the crate’s nailed shut lid, “This one’s just full of clothes.”
Bluebird peeked inside. Bright fabrics met her gaze, Kugane silk at that. Odd thing for Limsan pirates to deal in, but from what she understood, Eastern commodities sold well in Eorzea. Not that these silks were worth anything now – the saltwater had gotten in and unless Bluebird felt like vigorously washing them, they would stink or rot within a month.
“Some of the bodies have pistols,” Bluebird said as Aza moved to the next crate, carefully prying the lid off of it with amazing strength. He always was freakishly strong, “Limsan pistols at that. I know a few people who’ll pay a lot just to examine the metallurgy.”
“Oh?” Aza grunted distractedly, finally wrenching the lid free, “How come?”
“Their metal doesn’t rust in saltwater,” Bluebird said, “Or, it resists rust a lot better than normal metals. Some Kobold trick they stole, I hear.”
“Interesting,” Aza said in a tone that said otherwise, “Oh, hey, look at this.”
Bluebird obligingly peered in – and blinked, “Is that an egg?”
“A really big egg,” Aza said, leaning down and picking it out from the waterlogged nest of straw at the bottom of the crate. The egg was the size of Aza’s head, and he needed both hands to hold it – judging by how his biceps flexed, there was quite a bit of weight to it too, “I wonder what’s in here…?”
“A dragon?” Bluebird suggested, curiously eyeing the egg. It was a soft creamy colour, with pale blue speckling along the top. There were no cracks or signs of stress on the shell, and it hadn’t been bobbing in the water for long either – the sea was warm this time of year too, so the offspring inside should still be viable, “One of those weird Eorzean horsebirds?”
Aza perked up at that – then frowned, “Why would they bring a horsebird with them to here?”
“Trading. Quite a lot of these Limsans sell their shit in Kugane before going back home,” Bluebird said. Or, well, that’s what the Confederates said. You couldn’t raid Garlean shipping lanes too much, because they would just place more ships to guard the routes, eventually making it too dangerous to privateer. Instead, they tended to terrorise them for a bit, and then shift to regular trading in Kugane until the Imperials became complacent again. Rinse and repeat.
“Hm,” Aza studied the egg for a moment more, his expression contemplative, “I think I’ll keep it.”
Bluebird let out an ugly sounding snort, “Really? Where you gonna keep it if it hatches? Don’t think the boss would be too keen having a giant horsebird taking up room back at base.”
“Boss has been complaining about how hard it is to get good mounts nowadays,” Aza said. It was true – any fit and healthy horses or ponies were claimed by the Imperials for their ongoing ‘efforts towards modernising Othard’. That meant the only mounts left were the lame and old, useless if you needed a swift steed to deliver messages. Bluebird tried smuggling a Steppe pony to Doma once – but Doma’s climate didn’t agree with it very well, or the plant life, and it didn’t last long.
Horsebirds on the other hand… they were renowned for being hardy creatures, able to survive in multiple types of environments – alongside monsters too! They weren’t as fast as a horse, but they made up for it with sturdiness and the ability to fight back with those powerful and deadly kicks.
“I’m keeping it,” Aza repeated, hefting it into a more comfortable hold in his arms, “I mean, otherwise it’ll die and that’ll be a big waste.”
“We could eat it,” Bluebird suggested, “It looks like it could make a good omelette.”
“We are not eating it,” Aza huffed, fluffing up indignation, “It’s a baby!”
“More like emergency rations,” Bluebird drawled – then grinned when an idea dawned, “Oh, that’s what you can call it! Emergency Rations!”
“We’re not calling it Emergency Rations.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a mouthful. How about Rations for short?”
“We’re not calling it Rations!”
When the egg hatched a week later, thanks to Bluebird’s swift action of positive reinforcement via tasty gyshal greens, the only name the chick responded to was ‘Rations’, despite Aza’s attempts to make it respond to ‘Azimi’.
Honestly, watching her brother sulk and pout and huff every time his horsebird chick responded to ‘Rations’ was well worth the pain of said horsebird insistently shitting on her boots. So, very, worth it.
Characters: Warrior of Light, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warning: Mention of drowning, looting dead bodies
Seafoam frothed around Bluebird’s shins as she waded through the remains of a recent shipwreck, not yet picked at the numerous vultures that roamed along the Ruby Sea coastline. It looked to be a medium-sized ship, either a small merchant vessel that got extremely lost, or a swift privateering one from Vylbrand that caught the Confederates in a bad mood. The smashed hull was clamped tight between twin jagged rocks that jutted out of the shallows like fangs, dull grey and biting deep into the shattered wood. The masts were completely gone, snapped off like twigs, and littering the coast, being gently lapped ashore by the placid tide, were numerous crates, boxes and bodies.
Quite a lot of bodies.
One particular corpse bobbed close by Bluebird, and she waded in a bit deeper to take a closer look. The body was fresh enough that it hadn’t bloated yet, but it was still a little ripe as she rolled it over onto its back. A swarthy Roegadyn, clearly drowned, dressed in light armour with a firearm still holstered to his belt. Bluebird purloined that quick.
“Limsan,” she decided, pushing the corpse away once she realised there was nothing else of value on it. She recognised the tattoo on his bicep, “More of them around here these days.”
Hooking her new pistol to her belt after checking it over – a bit waterlogged, but after some drying and quick maintenance, it should be workable – Bluebird moved further down the coastline, the wrecked ship an ominous shadow looming in her peripheral.
“Oi, Aza,” she called, rounding a cluster of crates that had been dragged onto the beach proper. In the middle of this sort-of circle of ill-gotten cargo, her brother was leaning deep into an opened crate so the only thing she could see was his wriggling bum and swishing tail, “Find anything good?”
“Nothing yet,” Aza sighed, his voice echoing oddly within the crate before he straightened up. He swiped his damp brow with the back of his hand, his fingers scratched and reddened from forcing open the crate’s nailed shut lid, “This one’s just full of clothes.”
Bluebird peeked inside. Bright fabrics met her gaze, Kugane silk at that. Odd thing for Limsan pirates to deal in, but from what she understood, Eastern commodities sold well in Eorzea. Not that these silks were worth anything now – the saltwater had gotten in and unless Bluebird felt like vigorously washing them, they would stink or rot within a month.
“Some of the bodies have pistols,” Bluebird said as Aza moved to the next crate, carefully prying the lid off of it with amazing strength. He always was freakishly strong, “Limsan pistols at that. I know a few people who’ll pay a lot just to examine the metallurgy.”
“Oh?” Aza grunted distractedly, finally wrenching the lid free, “How come?”
“Their metal doesn’t rust in saltwater,” Bluebird said, “Or, it resists rust a lot better than normal metals. Some Kobold trick they stole, I hear.”
“Interesting,” Aza said in a tone that said otherwise, “Oh, hey, look at this.”
Bluebird obligingly peered in – and blinked, “Is that an egg?”
“A really big egg,” Aza said, leaning down and picking it out from the waterlogged nest of straw at the bottom of the crate. The egg was the size of Aza’s head, and he needed both hands to hold it – judging by how his biceps flexed, there was quite a bit of weight to it too, “I wonder what’s in here…?”
“A dragon?” Bluebird suggested, curiously eyeing the egg. It was a soft creamy colour, with pale blue speckling along the top. There were no cracks or signs of stress on the shell, and it hadn’t been bobbing in the water for long either – the sea was warm this time of year too, so the offspring inside should still be viable, “One of those weird Eorzean horsebirds?”
Aza perked up at that – then frowned, “Why would they bring a horsebird with them to here?”
“Trading. Quite a lot of these Limsans sell their shit in Kugane before going back home,” Bluebird said. Or, well, that’s what the Confederates said. You couldn’t raid Garlean shipping lanes too much, because they would just place more ships to guard the routes, eventually making it too dangerous to privateer. Instead, they tended to terrorise them for a bit, and then shift to regular trading in Kugane until the Imperials became complacent again. Rinse and repeat.
“Hm,” Aza studied the egg for a moment more, his expression contemplative, “I think I’ll keep it.”
Bluebird let out an ugly sounding snort, “Really? Where you gonna keep it if it hatches? Don’t think the boss would be too keen having a giant horsebird taking up room back at base.”
“Boss has been complaining about how hard it is to get good mounts nowadays,” Aza said. It was true – any fit and healthy horses or ponies were claimed by the Imperials for their ongoing ‘efforts towards modernising Othard’. That meant the only mounts left were the lame and old, useless if you needed a swift steed to deliver messages. Bluebird tried smuggling a Steppe pony to Doma once – but Doma’s climate didn’t agree with it very well, or the plant life, and it didn’t last long.
Horsebirds on the other hand… they were renowned for being hardy creatures, able to survive in multiple types of environments – alongside monsters too! They weren’t as fast as a horse, but they made up for it with sturdiness and the ability to fight back with those powerful and deadly kicks.
“I’m keeping it,” Aza repeated, hefting it into a more comfortable hold in his arms, “I mean, otherwise it’ll die and that’ll be a big waste.”
“We could eat it,” Bluebird suggested, “It looks like it could make a good omelette.”
“We are not eating it,” Aza huffed, fluffing up indignation, “It’s a baby!”
“More like emergency rations,” Bluebird drawled – then grinned when an idea dawned, “Oh, that’s what you can call it! Emergency Rations!”
“We’re not calling it Emergency Rations.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a mouthful. How about Rations for short?”
“We’re not calling it Rations!”
When the egg hatched a week later, thanks to Bluebird’s swift action of positive reinforcement via tasty gyshal greens, the only name the chick responded to was ‘Rations’, despite Aza’s attempts to make it respond to ‘Azimi’.
Honestly, watching her brother sulk and pout and huff every time his horsebird chick responded to ‘Rations’ was well worth the pain of said horsebird insistently shitting on her boots. So, very, worth it.
