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year 5, quarter 3
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Post by Faris Scherwiz on Jan 13, 2016 10:42:35 GMT -6
[attr="class","oneword1"]
[attr="class","fromyou1"]@wiegraf
I feel so freaking bad for Wiegraf. xD
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
Faris dreamed that he was behind the wheel of a pirate ship. He felt the rough grain of the wood, the sleek boards of the deck, the sting of the wind at his cheeks. The smell of salt flooded his senses, and it was enough to set his heart racing. There was an animal screech, and the waters parted beside him. First came the waves then a pointed snout and an elongated neck. Syldra batted playfully at the hull of the ship and brought her great head down beside Faris’ shoulder. Faris released the wheel to stroke the beast’s neck.
From the corner of his eye, there came a flash of blue. Faris turned in time to see Bartz fiddling with the sail.
“Hey, what’re you-?!”
Ropes snapped. The mast spun in a great, wooden creak. Faris’ eyes widened and suddenly the skies had gone dark. From far away came a deep clap of thunder. The waves had quickened now. It was as though the ship had been taken by invisible hands -- rocking, shaking, creaking, and completely out his control. A scream sounded from below, and Faris caught a glimpse of blonde -- Krile -- before a black wave caught against the hull, swallowed the girl, and swept her away.
Faris voice caught in his throat. He dashed down, reaching out for her, but his fingers closed on air. At the end of the deck, a figure still stood -- shadowed, blurry, feminine. She turned to Faris with clutching hands and wavering eyes. “Help me,” she said, “Sister, I-.”
The sea gave a roar like a beast, and a wave towered over them both, growing, growing, growing until it blotted out the sun, and Faris could only stare, frozen in awe as it all came crashing down.
Water filled his lungs. Red-hot. Constricting. He couldn’t breathe. His ribs ached with water. Struggling. Gasping. Another second and his lungs would burst. His head pounded with nausea. Another second and-
Thunder clapped again.
Faris woke with a start, grasping at blankets, pillows, and sheets. The smell of food overwhelmed him and mingled sickly with the pounding in his head. He still couldn’t breathe.
“Ah...Ah…” Faris let out a whine -- high-pitched, weak. He grasped desperately at his chest. Pain shot up his lungs with every breath. From all sides, there was pressure. Constricting, aching, piercing.
His bandages had slipped again.
Faris cursed something foul and threw himself from his bed. His head pounded black with the sudden movement. His stomach churned.
And then he was on his knees. “Oh gods,” he gasped, “I’m gonna-!” He scrambled on the ground, searching for something -- anything -- to stop what he knew was coming. His hands grasped around the smooth edge of a bucket littered with paper and bags. His head pounded, his hands trembled, and the heat rose to his face as he gasped for breath that wouldn’t come and his stomach gave a violent lurch.
With every retch, the pain came ten-fold, blinding him. He purged until there was nothing left and he was left gasping and trembling against the bucket’s rim. His ribs ached like creaking wood about to give.
Curses spewed unfettered Faris’ lips. With every curse there came a new shot of pain and a high-pitched whine. “Son of a -- Ahhh! -- Bastardly fu -- Ahhh! -- Damn damn da -- Ahhh!”
Faris grasped blindly at the belt at his waist. Shaking fingers stumbled over the clasp and then loosened it until it fell with a clatter. He yanked the scarf violently from his shoulders and tossed it behind him. Then not caring for the pain, Faris unbuttoned the top of his tunic and let it fall until it gathered loosely about his waist like a skirt.
His hands tugged desperately at the knot in his binding. Cotton bandages wrapped about his chest, criss-crossing into many rounded X’s layered from the bottom of his ribs to top of each shoulder. He tugged once, twice, on the knot but couldn’t loosen it. Why had he tied it in the back?
Faris reached for the knife sheathed on his belt. He pulled out the knot and cut it sharply. The edge of the bandage flew as though loosed from a catapult The binding unraveled several time and then fell slack. Faris grasped at all the constricted layers until it hung limply about him. Not exactly exposing himself, but not leaving much to the imagination either.
His gasps slowed, but still hurt. Especially if he breathed too deep. Faris brought a tender hand up to the side of his ribs. Probably not broken (When they had been, the pain had been paralyzing. Faris had lost consciousness as soon as he’d heard the crack), but maybe bruised deep to the bone. His breasts were lined in red welts. They’d banded where they’d conformed to the pressure, day after day, from the age of fourteen.
Faris let his forehead dig into the rim of the trash-bucket. His stomach churned as the sweet smell of vomit mixed with the wafting of eggs. “What did I do last night…?” The memories weren’t gone, exactly, just hazy from the pain and the nausea. He was distracted more than he was forgetful, and he ran the memories back in his mind.
He’d been at a bar -- another one a little rougher than the last. He’d been drinking (of course, he had) when some spineless coward had started yelling at him. Something about hurting people. Faris had summoned his spear and then there’d been a fight, people were running, and then…
A man had come in. Yes, a prissy knight in leather armor. He’d bought Faris’ drinks, offered him a place to stay, and-
Faris raised his head to see bare feet, long legs, and scruffy hair. The knight -- Wiegraf, was that his name? -- stood over him, still shirtless from sleep. Faris felt the remaining color drain from his cheeks.
“Don’t say...anythi-”
The rest of his words were swallowed by a sudden lurch. Faris whimpered in pain as he heaved up bile.
(Didn't much see the reason for going long with this one, because I really want to get Faris' reactions in detail before I have Wiegraf wander off to do another nice thing for Faris.)
The door swung, slammed closed, and Wiegraf glanced upon Faris to find his mission successful. The sea brigand jolted clean out of bed, and for a moment, the White Knight believed Faris had shaken off the alcohol better than he'd expected. That is, until his ears caught wild cursing and eventually a scramble for something--anything--with which to...
...I'll have to pay for this.
Wiegraf, for a moment, thought back to Gustav once again. "That seems right," he mumbled under his breath, memories of Gustav scrambling similarly across the floor, ears picking up the not-so-subtle musical notes of a body rejecting the stupidity of a night previous. Yeah, that was indeed right. The smell didn't bother Wiegraf much though--bile and food still smelled better than rotting corpses being eaten by the bottom-feeding ravagers of nature, and Wiegraf had dealt with that so much that he was hardly affected by anything less.
The White Knight watched for a moment, as Faris scrambled about his person, pulling his shirt down to reveal bandages, and a knife quickly followed, revealing some other things about Faris. He was, in fact, a she. Wiegraf shook his head quietly, turning away. He would not disrespect Faris his secrets, nor would he judge the lad for having them. When Faris seemed to try and order him not to say anything, only to be interrupted by yet more upheavals, Wiegraf spoke back quietly, somberly. "Sleeping in those is quite poor for your health."
Wordlessly, Wiegraf moved away. He stepped toward his pile of clothes, bent down, and rifled through his tunic. He made sure to hide the Zodiac Stone in his pile of garments, too, while he was searching for something in particular... A flash of recognition appeared in his eyes as he spotted a small, squishy rubber bag, about the size of the man's sizable palm, packed within one of the many pockets inside the tunic. He pulled it out, and then pressed it against the floor with his finger tips, only to slide it backwards, to where Faris had set up shop to peddle foul air and stomach churning sounds.
"Ointment," Wiegraf started with a quiet chuckle, "To ease the pain." Wiegraf had used it many times before, as a warrior, to ease his own pained muscles and bruises. It was no cure for the damage, but would ease the suffering of a warrior well enough. Wiegraf then decided to pull the tunic over his body, as it was no longer appropriate to be half dressed- No longer two men in the room, but rather only one now. He then set himself at the edge of his bed, pulling on his right boot, armored shin and knee guards still attached and buckled at the back, but before he'd set to pulling on the left, he stamped his foot down on the floor harshly under the guise of ensuring it was on fully, but truly just to cause an influx of pain in Faris.
Wiegraf was hardly a vindictive man, but he felt there was at least some punishment in order for Faris' constant death threats last night. So after ensuring his right boot was on fully, the White Knight kept his eyes away from Faris (to respect his privacy), slipped his left boot on as well, and stamped that one down heavily as well. It was like a battlehammer being wrought against the wooden floor, ringing out across the room so loudly even Wiegraf's ears rung a little, and he wasn't in the midst of a hangover.
Final Fantasy V
23
YEARS
Trans Male
Single
Pansexual
245 POSTS
Fin
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
Post by Faris Scherwiz on Jan 27, 2016 15:15:45 GMT -6
[attr="class","oneword1"]
[attr="class","fromyou1"]@wiegraf
I didn't mean to play Faris this way, but I think he's straight up transgender in my version. Huh.
You've got a lot of brass, or mayhap you're just lacking in brains!
"Ah..." The renewed dry-heaves strained at Faris' ribs. The pain came like knives inserted between each bone and then faded to a dull, aching throb. Faris felt his eyes droop, felt the sweat running down his forehead in rivulets, felt the pounding of his head over it all, and bit back another moan. Instead, he let off another high-pitched whine. A little more dignified than the alternative. Just the smallest bit, but at the moment, he was grasping for whatever slivers of pride he could manage.
He felt Wiegraf's judgement like a spotlight -- heated, untouchable, and far too bright.
Honestly, Faris couldn't think of a single less dignified position for himself. Kneeling, half-conscious, sweaty, topless, and with one hell of a hangover. Faris was sure he'd done worse (the life of a pirate wasn't the proudest), but never in front of a prissy stick-in-the-mud knight like Wiegraf. If they'd met under different circumstances, Faris might have tried to ruffle the man's feathers and prove his own strength. As it was, Faris could only shrivel beneath the man's gaze.
Wiegraf didn't insult him or even make a point of the rather inconsistent points of Faris' biology. Instead, he took a moment of silence and said, "Sleeping in those is quite poor for your health."
Faris might have laughed if it hadn't hurt so badly. Instead, he only spit the last of the bile from his mouth, turned his head towards the man's boots, and said, "I noticed."
Faris breaths came slower now, but shallow lest he tempt the ache in his ribs. His head wasn't spinning quite so badly and the pains in his stomach had faded. He heard footsteps across the room, but didn't bother to watch them. He inventoried the many pitfalls of his morning one by one.
Waking up in a strange room? Check. Still shipwrecked in a foreign kingdom? Check. Ungodly hangover? Check. Dry broke? Check. And why not add deep bruising to the mix while he was at it? Faris couldn't begin to express his excitement.
A cold something slid into Faris' leg and he glanced at it despite himself. It was a bag, small and about the size of his hand. "Ointment," Wiegraf said, "To ease the pain." Faris started laughing, but stopped abruptly. The knives in his ribs didn't like that much.
"You're a pretty decent man, aren't you?" Faris took the pouch in one hand and then slowly gathered himself with the other. With much wincing and panting, Faris shifted himself away from the bucket until he was slumped against the wall. Not exactly dignified, but at least he was sitting up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed some straggles of purple hair behind his ear. "Helping a curr like me. Can't imagine the hell I must've put you through." Faris smirked bitterly. "Hope I wasn't too much trouble."
Wiegraf was dressing himself properly now. He pulled on his tunic ('Now I'm the only one half-dressed. But that's where drunkenness gets you, doesn't it?'), before taking his high boot in hand, setting his foot inside, and slamming it securely on the floor.
"Ah..." The noise of it was like the stomp of a dragon. Faris winced as it pounded into his headache so loud he saw colors behind his eyes. A weak glance caught Wiegraf readying the other boot. "Hey, don't-!"
SLAM
"Auh! Son of a one-eyed sahagin! You did that on purpose!" This time it was even louder and plowed Faris over like a boulder. He took his head in hand and touched gingerly at the sides of his aching temples. For a moment, the room was spinning again and Faris thought his stomach might revolt. But then it slowed, steadied, and calmed. "Maybe I deserve it, though." His laughs came weak and cautious. "I'd have done the same thing."
Faris took a deep breath -- the deepest he could allow himself before the pain came again -- and sat up straighter. He twisted off the bottle's cap and squeezed out a globule of clear gelatin. Faris eyed it warily. "Ointment, you said? Well, might as well try it. What've I got to lose?" He touched it to his ribs and gingerly rubbed the concoction into his skin. He took another squeeze of the tube and worked his way up past the ribs, under the bandages, and towards...
Faris glanced sheepishly at the man. Faris wasn't exactly comfortable showing off his more feminine side, but he supposed that modesty wasn't something he deserved. Without a single word against it, Faris set his eyes furiously ahead, grit his teeth, and did what had to be done. The loose bandages offered a little protection against complete exposure, but it hardly mattered. Faris never liked touching the warped and banded flesh anymore than he liked the world seeing it.
The ointment didn't work immediately, but as Faris finished, he felt it warm against his chest. It started with an odd tingling sensation that settled deeper and deeper below his skin. Faris blinked in surprise, but it wasn't unpleasant exactly. The stronger that odd feeling, the weaker the pain. After a moment, Faris found himself sighing in relief. "That...Yeah. That works," Faris muttered and slid the tube back to Wiegraf. "Thanks. My day wasn't turning out the best." Faris glanced towards the window. Was it still morning or had it already passed noon?
Did it matter? Faris had nowhere to be and nowhere to go. The emptiness of his wallet was like a weight of its own.
Faris took another breath (far deeper this time) and slowly stumbled to his feet. His stomach churned and his forehead pounded, but he kept upright by holding onto the dresser. As he shifted, the bandages further unraveled. Faris turned towards the wall before irritably casting them away and sliding the tunic back up over his shoulders. Faris bent to pick up his discarded scarf and carefully arranged it around his shoulders so it hung low over the slight distortions of his chest. He appraised it with his tongue between his teeth.
"What d'you think? Good as new?" Faris asked. Though he felt exposed without the familiar constraint, he bit back his own shame. Another flip of his scraggled hair, and Faris thought that he might look nearly like he had before. Just a bit paler, a little weaker, and the slightest hint more feminine.
