[Sooooo...it's been a week or so since the two of them had That Conversation with one another. In all honesty it's left Tataru...bothered. Not enough to actually go and seek Emet out to bitch at him but enough that she's found herself thinking about the man more often than she would. Can she stop herself from meddling or reaching out? Not really. In all honesty she's worried for him, even if he had been extremely dismissive of her.
Perhaps she should've expected it though. She hadn't wanted to judge him on the people he belonged to, but it's par for the course for a Garlean to see a Lalafell as so inconsequential and meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Does it hurt? A bit, but it's nothing she hasn't heard before.]
Hullo Emet-Selch! I hope you've been keeping well. I've made you a batch of dangerously dark chocolate muffins, you see. You're sure to enjoy them.
[Because they're dangerously dark, like your soul. Or something to that degree.]
[Despite his claims to the contrary, Emet-Selch had actually thought about both her and her words since that day. And he favored them no more than before. The Ascian needed a lot more than one optimistic lalafell to convince him to remain in the present, or that life was something other than a series of miserable circumstances.
But this was... not the sort of message he expected to receive from her.]
If you're trying to bake yourself into my good favors, it's unnecessary.
[Because he'd forgiven her (as though there was something to forgive her for), or because he would never forgive her, he doesn't specify.
Though at another thought, he adds a moment later:]
If you're attempting to poison me, emphasizing the danger involved is not the best way of going about it.
Oh please, don't be ridiculous now. Why would I attempt to poison you? I may use underhanded methods to get what I want but I'm no assassin.
[Wait. Maybe that's not how she should've phrased that.]
As far as I'm aware I never was expelled from your favours in the first place. The muffins are fresh, Emet-Selch, and waiting to be taken into your custody.
[Alright, he doesn't really believe she's out to harm him, and he sighs.]
Who knows how that mind of yours works? But if not my favor, then what else are you hoping for?
[No one offers anything for free.]
And you're not even offering home delivery for your 'gifts'... 'tis rather inconsiderate.
[Nevermind that he's being offered homemade food from someone he's insulted. Nevermind that he can teleport easily enough to get them. He's just feeling petty, really.]
Well... at least you know not to get your hopes up terribly high.
I have not forgotten. With all else you've arranged, I doubted you had the concentration to spare for magic.
[Ugh, but if she was willing to visit him, that meant his space was going to be invaded. That meant he'd have to get out of bed. No matter what the option was, he'd find a way to be annoyed by it.]
But I suppose I can deign to see you, if so.
[On the other hand, all this grumpiness means he's treating you to his actual personality, Tataru, rather than pretending to be slightly politer than he is.]
[And, true to her word, she shows up in an hour with a generously sized box of muffins, humming away as she opens the front door, pushing it aside to wriggle her way inside. She's small and quiet enough that her presence will go unnoticed for a moment or two, or at least until she finds the kitchen. There's no reason to not make herself at home and really, Emet-Selch shouldn't have left the door open if he expected anything less from her...so don't be so surprised if the scene one grumpy ghost stumbles upon is this: Tataru having set out a chocolate muffin on a plate, the box of them off to the side on a kitchen counter, as she stands on a chair near the sink, filling the kettle she holds in hand with water.
She's been humming and singing to herself the entire time, and it's only when she's filled the kettle and her sensitive ears pick up on the sound of footsteps that she turns on the chair to face her company. (Isn't she supposed to be the company?)]
You know, I quite miss the Magitek kettle I had back in the Waking Sands...no kettle has compared to it thus far. A pity really!
[It was fortunate that he'd given himself the time that he had, as the Ascian had- in the middle of getting dressed even- passed out unceremoniously on his bedroom floor for a good twenty minutes.
About that long, anyway, it was all a bit disorienting. But it gave him enough time to try and wake up (again), get ready, unlock the door downstairs as he promised, and go back upstairs to... try and not fall asleep again. With marginally more success, this time. Enough so that he is still technically up when he begins hearing strange noises from downstairs.
Towards which he hauls himself down to, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the frame of it as he watches Tataru... apparently making herself quite at home. He stares, looking more tired than specifically unfriendly, not really managing to take it all in.]
...Don't Eorzeans have their own sorts of kettles?
[Why had she been using a magitek- a presumably Garlean-crafted thing, he decides to wonder.]
[Don't let Tataru realize just how much you sleep, Emet. She may just make you a fluffy night robe and a pair of matching spriggan slippers...which you will feel obliged to wear. Look out for it in your future.]
Well of course we do. [Silly question but she's not one to mock a person for asking silly questions.] But I had an incredible piece of magitek technology that had been made for me - the Mark XIV Thermocoil Boilmaster - it's the finest kettle I've ever owned!
[She looks...so proud of herself. Don't judge her. Clearly kettles are serious business.]
Anyroad I figured tea would go well with the muffins I made. Black or green? Or herbal perhaps?
[So long as they're comfortable... he wouldn't really turn them down. Be slightly bewildered at the gift, yes, but he would probably use them.]
I... see. [He's not quite sure what to make of that. But- that was right, between Cid and his various defectors from Garlemald, Tataru would've had some sort of access to someone with magiteknical knowledge. And who was apparently inclined to bestow upon her a kettle of legendary efficacy and long title.] I'm not surprised you'd find something Garlean-produced to be superior to anything you'd find either here or in Eorzea. I'm mostly surprised you would admit to it.
[There, a touch of Garlean-supremacy for flavor.]
And black, perhaps... unless you feel a certain type would be more appropriate?
[She turns back quickly, grabbing the teapot she found, only to toss a spoonful or two of the black tea leaves she'd brought with her in the steeper. There. It'll only take a few minutes once the water's boiled. Setting the kettle atop the stove to do just that she turns herself forward to face Emet-Selch once more, perched on her chair.]
I'm not so proud as to not admit Garlean technology - magitek that is - to be superior in certain ways compared to what I've had available to me throughout my life. I've seen first hand how incredible it can be.
[Not just from Wedge trying to show off and impress her with the latest inventions he'd been working on, but also out in the field when she'd been captured. To deny that the technology the Empire possessed wasn't incredible in its own right would be foolish.]
That isn't to say Eorzea is as "savage" as you might think it is...it isn't. We simply have different solutions to problems we encounter. Different isn't necessarily bad.
[Finally stepping into the kitchen proper, Emet-Selch takes a stance leaning against the counter, though is careful to remain out of Tataru's way.]
Eorzea is no more savage than Garlemald, to be quite honest with you....
[That is to say, they both were.]
Would that both groups were more willing to recognize this. Unfortunately, prejudice and fear rule the day. Our societies as they are... will never know any lasting peace.
[Well, that's 'nice' to hear him say, especially after the way he talked down to her on Little Ladies' Day. Better to be equally savage than one more than the other. He's right though, that when it came to finding true peace they were a ways off from it. She gives him a pensive little nod, letting her gaze fall to the kettle on the stove.]
I doubt I'll live to see such a thing. Not that I ever will, since I live here now, but you know what I mean.
[Lalafell, if not gobbled up, did live for quite some time (longer than a Hyur at any rate) but that didn't mean her lifespan would be long enough to see the two societies come together.]
People can barely come together to fight a common enemy. Ishgard itself only recently opened its gates to join the Alliance...and it was their ignorance that started the Dragonsong War in the first place.
[She just calls it like she sees it.]
The optimist in me wishes for it above all else...but the realist in me knows peace is ever fleeting and something that needs to be constantly earned and nourished if it is to survive.
[Don't worry, Tataru, he looks down on you all equally.]
I doubt anyone in the current world will. Not you nor I, nor our collective heroic friends. Even should they survive their habits towards placing themselves in the heart of every passing catastrophe... even they will fade, their deeds consigned to history.
[A mixed, melancholy sort of feeling at that. But he is mollified a bit by Tataru's recognition in the difficulty in getting mortals to work together for a common good.]
You can nourish it as much as you like... but lives are too short. The lessons one generation learns will be forgotten by the next. A peace that needs constantly reformed scarcely qualifies as a peace at all. 'Tis only a pause between miseries.
[A cheerful conversation to have over tea and muffins.]
He's not wrong though, she'll agree with him on that. Still, despite its fleeting nature, peace was something to strive for. Something to work toward. She opens her mouth to say as much, to reiterate her point, but the kettle begins to whistle and she's startled by the sound. Quickly her attention turns back to the stove as she hurriedly takes the kettle off the heat, carefully pouring the boiling water into the teapot. Once it's all settled she's setting it back on the stove (on a cool burner mind you), cautiously stepping off the chair and taking the teapot with her. Her goal is the table where the muffins and tea cups have been set out - thankfully she manages to reach it without any mishaps.]
That's life though, is it not? Nothing lasts forever - that's what makes the time we share with others so precious, even if it'll be forgotten. The moment something becomes capable of being lost the more it is to be treasured.
[But that's enough moody philosophy for the moment. The last thing she wants is to fall into a fight with him again. So, she waves him over, urging him to take a seat at the table where she's set a muffin out for him.]
Come now, sit, enjoy your muffin while the warmth still lingers. I promise you will. The tea will be ready in a minute.
[It is pretty clear from the sourness of his expression that Tataru's sentiments are not very much aligned with his own. Though it's a look that contains as much grief as it does disapproval, and when he opens his mouth to say that they must have very different values for what qualifies as precious--
--he does manage to stop himself. He didn't particularly want to start an argument that would go nowhere. Occasionally being able to reign himself in counted as learning, didn't it?
So Emet-Selch shuffles slowly towards his designated chair by the kitchen table, settling into it with no small degree of heaviness.]
--I assume you shall be joining me in sharing in the results of your handiwork? I notice that you brought more than enough.
[A small gesture towards the box of muffins that she'd brought with her, before turning towards the one set aside for him. The way he breaks a piece off with his fingers is strikingly laborious, as though even this much was a drain on his stamina.]
Once he's seated himself she pours them each a cup of tea, perched upon a chair to reach the table with ease. A plate has been set out for herself as well which soon finds a muffin occupying it once she's nudged Emet's designated tea cup in his direction. Settling down on her knees she picks off a piece of muffin much in the same vein as her Garlean companion, but with far more enthusiasm. It may seem a little uncomfortable to be in a chair in such a position but clearly she's had practice and isn't bothered in the slightest.
Oh the struggle of being short.]
So! Back to my kettle. I've always been curious to ask but Cid is ever so busy and it never seemed appropriate...what was Garlemald like, in your experience? What of the magitek you grew up with? I would love to learn of it all.
[Those... sure were some questions, Tataru. Emet-Selch hums to himself in thought, nodding in acknowledgement of the addition of tea. Just as slowly chewing over a bit of muffin (not at all bad, he had to accept), he uses the opportunity to think.
The full truth- as amusing as it would've been to state- was clearly out, but there were plenty of other things to focus on.]
...'Tis a dismal place. Do you know much of the history of the nation? Garleans did not originate in the hostile northern climes of Ilsabard, but were forced there from the more hospitable lands of Aldenard. Unable to manipulate aether in the same way as you... there was little they could do but struggle to survive in lands that no one else desired.
[He pauses to take a sip of tea.]
Of course, much changed with the advent of magitek. Mere survival is much less of an issue, though it's done little to improve the weather. The capital itself is bleak, cold in more than temperature. I'm sure you've seen your share of Castrums built in Eorzea- 'tis a similar style of architecture, if not as wholly militaristic.
--They're not bad. [An abrupt shift, as he points towards his gradually-diminishing treat.] Your muffins.
[Admittedly she didn't know much of the history of Garlemald at all. While she was open-minded enough to not reject and judge those who defected from the Empire based on their race at first glance, that didn't mean she was gung-ho about delving into history books like Urianger in her free time.
The more he describes it however Tataru's shoulders begin to sag just a bit. Dismal and cold. It makes her think back to her time in Ishgard which, despite the city being beautiful in its own right, was chilled not only in temperature but to outsiders as well.
A place driven by its might and military. She can't imagine how anyone can thrive.]
Thank you! Please, help yourself to another.
[She made a bunch...with the intention that he shares, of course, but he can absolutely have more than one. Another piece of muffin is popped into her mouth as she casts her gaze down to the surface of her tea, watching the steam rise.]
I was well acquainted with one of the Empire's Castrums...as a forced guest, you could say. [She had been kidnapped. It sucked. A lot.] I had hoped though the Empire had a bit more joy to it. What of painters and musicians? Dancers and festivities?
[Even uptight Ishgard was a place full of rich culture and reverence for art.]
[And he will take that bonus muffin as soon as he finishes with the first. Free food was the best kind, and while it wouldn't provide much of a burst of energy, it would help keep him a bit more awake.
And the Ascian would share; he could tell at a glance there was enough for the household.]
The fabled Garlean hospitality.... [A dry tone, and he affects a politely regretful look.] 'Tis fortunate that you managed to survive it.
[Had she been caught up in the capture of someone more valuable, he wondered. Emet-Selch doubted the empire would've targeted a lone accountant, no matter how crafty she was.]
I wouldn't say the empire is wholly bereft of joy, but I wouldn't describe it as pleasant place for most- particularly those with origins outside of Garlemald. While lives did improve with magitek, and more time could be spent on developing the arts- one thing that Solus did encourage, particularly theatrical performances- priorities have always been favoring the military. You could say it's our greatest export.
[An even drier tone, accompanied by a sigh and a faint shake of his head.]
And with Varis now emperor, most artistic endeavors have been suppressed. While Solus did allow critiques of government to be expressed in such a way... his grandson is not quite so lenient.
[Partially to discourage dissension through artistic protest, but mostly to spite the memory of his grandsire, the Ascian was certain. What a petty man.]
[Not exactly an export anyone favoured in the slightest, but she doesn't have to say as much. It's well known the expansion of the Empire wasn't supported by anyone who wasn't, y'know, loyal to them in the first place.
She can't help but perk up a bit though at the mention of theatre - that wasn't what she was expecting to hear. She's grateful to learn of it though and clearly she wants to know more. Another bit of muffin is pulled off and stuffed past her lips, one of her cheeks puffing out, somewhat akin to an overzealous nutkin. It only serves to accentuate her rounded features, before she's swallowing, fingers reaching for her tea.]
He sounds like a much more agreeable man, this Emperor Solus, especially if he was fond of theatre. Can you tell me more about him?
[Tataru's appreciation for her own muffins was slightly amusing, the Ascian continuing to take a more measured approach, a gradual devouring accompanied by tea.
Did he know much about Solus? Well....]
Agreeable? I suppose you could say that, though he is the one responsible for forming the empire at all... 'twas a republic, before his ascendance. His innovations with technology turned the military into the force that it is now, overcoming our aetherical shortcomings with firepower that far exceeds that of the average magic-bound Eorzean.
[There's little arrogance in his tone though, just a base statement of facts, accompanied by a small shrug.]
But I don't know if that sort of history would be of interest. He was considered charismatic and eccentric both, and quite a popular ruler for the hope he provided to what was a rather downtrodden population... but he had nearly as many enemies.
[A small pause.]
He did not have the easiest life. His first son [The smallest twinge here, barely perceptible.] died of illness whilst still young, and his wife not so many years after. And despite popularity, he was not known to allow anyone at all close.
[As she listens to Emet-Selch speak, attentive and quiet, she can't help but feel sympathy for the man he begins to describe. The Empire may be the enemy to Eorzea as a whole, but it's hard not to see this emperor as a man who was doing ultimately what he needed to for his people. Perhaps that vision or dream was corrupted along the way over time, but she can understand the desire to become something greater all too well.]
He sounds like an interesting man who lead an interesting life.
[She means that in earnest, pausing to take a sip of her tea.]
I can only imagine how lonely he must have felt...to have lost so much.
[With great power comes great responsibility, along with all the trappings of bureaucracy.]
...When I was smaller I remember wishing I could be the Sultana of Ul'dah - we're the same age, you see, and so it was easy enough to fantasize about what it'd be like. Of course, when I grew a bit older I realized how suffocating it would be, to be royalty and tasked to govern over people. There's no treasure or power in the world worth giving up one's personal freedom for, or at least that's how I see it.
[There's another sip before she sets her tea down to go back to her muffin.]
If he did so much for his people I can see why he was respected. Lifting a people out from despair and liberating them is no easy feat to accomplish.
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text | un: taru
Perhaps she should've expected it though. She hadn't wanted to judge him on the people he belonged to, but it's par for the course for a Garlean to see a Lalafell as so inconsequential and meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Does it hurt? A bit, but it's nothing she hasn't heard before.]
Hullo Emet-Selch! I hope you've been keeping well. I've made you a batch of dangerously dark chocolate muffins, you see. You're sure to enjoy them.
[Because they're dangerously dark, like your soul. Or something to that degree.]
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But this was... not the sort of message he expected to receive from her.]
If you're trying to bake yourself into my good favors, it's unnecessary.
[Because he'd forgiven her (as though there was something to forgive her for), or because he would never forgive her, he doesn't specify.
Though at another thought, he adds a moment later:]
If you're attempting to poison me, emphasizing the danger involved is not the best way of going about it.
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[Wait. Maybe that's not how she should've phrased that.]
As far as I'm aware I never was expelled from your favours in the first place. The muffins are fresh, Emet-Selch, and waiting to be taken into your custody.
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Who knows how that mind of yours works? But if not my favor, then what else are you hoping for?
[No one offers anything for free.]
And you're not even offering home delivery for your 'gifts'... 'tis rather inconsiderate.
[Nevermind that he's being offered homemade food from someone he's insulted. Nevermind that he can teleport easily enough to get them. He's just feeling petty, really.]
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Also, you and I have a magic date. I pray you haven't forgotten.
[This fuggin...grumpy man. Whatever. It's fine.]
Now, now, who said I wasn't going to bring them to you? I was. I need the walk.
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I have not forgotten. With all else you've arranged, I doubted you had the concentration to spare for magic.
[Ugh, but if she was willing to visit him, that meant his space was going to be invaded. That meant he'd have to get out of bed. No matter what the option was, he'd find a way to be annoyed by it.]
But I suppose I can deign to see you, if so.
[On the other hand, all this grumpiness means he's treating you to his actual personality, Tataru, rather than pretending to be slightly politer than he is.]
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[Like hopes or spices. You catch her drift.]
You're right, I was quite busy. I'm less so now that the festivities are over, however, and I'm quite keen to get right back into things.
[Literally get out of bed, get dressed, wash your face and brush your teeth. Emet-Selch please.]
When would you like to receive me?
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At least you maintain some sense.
But hopefully you won't become so easily distracted in future.
[He'll make himself presentable, don't worry. And will try not to fall back asleep in the process.]
In an hour would be acceptable. I'll leave the front door unlocked for you.
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[And, true to her word, she shows up in an hour with a generously sized box of muffins, humming away as she opens the front door, pushing it aside to wriggle her way inside. She's small and quiet enough that her presence will go unnoticed for a moment or two, or at least until she finds the kitchen. There's no reason to not make herself at home and really, Emet-Selch shouldn't have left the door open if he expected anything less from her...so don't be so surprised if the scene one grumpy ghost stumbles upon is this: Tataru having set out a chocolate muffin on a plate, the box of them off to the side on a kitchen counter, as she stands on a chair near the sink, filling the kettle she holds in hand with water.
She's been humming and singing to herself the entire time, and it's only when she's filled the kettle and her sensitive ears pick up on the sound of footsteps that she turns on the chair to face her company. (Isn't she supposed to be the company?)]
You know, I quite miss the Magitek kettle I had back in the Waking Sands...no kettle has compared to it thus far. A pity really!
[Hello, Emet.]
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About that long, anyway, it was all a bit disorienting. But it gave him enough time to try and wake up (again), get ready, unlock the door downstairs as he promised, and go back upstairs to... try and not fall asleep again. With marginally more success, this time. Enough so that he is still technically up when he begins hearing strange noises from downstairs.
Towards which he hauls himself down to, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the frame of it as he watches Tataru... apparently making herself quite at home. He stares, looking more tired than specifically unfriendly, not really managing to take it all in.]
...Don't Eorzeans have their own sorts of kettles?
[Why had she been using a magitek- a presumably Garlean-crafted thing, he decides to wonder.]
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Well of course we do. [Silly question but she's not one to mock a person for asking silly questions.] But I had an incredible piece of magitek technology that had been made for me - the Mark XIV Thermocoil Boilmaster - it's the finest kettle I've ever owned!
[She looks...so proud of herself. Don't judge her. Clearly kettles are serious business.]
Anyroad I figured tea would go well with the muffins I made. Black or green? Or herbal perhaps?
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I... see. [He's not quite sure what to make of that. But- that was right, between Cid and his various defectors from Garlemald, Tataru would've had some sort of access to someone with magiteknical knowledge. And who was apparently inclined to bestow upon her a kettle of legendary efficacy and long title.] I'm not surprised you'd find something Garlean-produced to be superior to anything you'd find either here or in Eorzea. I'm mostly surprised you would admit to it.
[There, a touch of Garlean-supremacy for flavor.]
And black, perhaps... unless you feel a certain type would be more appropriate?
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[She turns back quickly, grabbing the teapot she found, only to toss a spoonful or two of the black tea leaves she'd brought with her in the steeper. There. It'll only take a few minutes once the water's boiled. Setting the kettle atop the stove to do just that she turns herself forward to face Emet-Selch once more, perched on her chair.]
I'm not so proud as to not admit Garlean technology - magitek that is - to be superior in certain ways compared to what I've had available to me throughout my life. I've seen first hand how incredible it can be.
[Not just from Wedge trying to show off and impress her with the latest inventions he'd been working on, but also out in the field when she'd been captured. To deny that the technology the Empire possessed wasn't incredible in its own right would be foolish.]
That isn't to say Eorzea is as "savage" as you might think it is...it isn't. We simply have different solutions to problems we encounter. Different isn't necessarily bad.
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Eorzea is no more savage than Garlemald, to be quite honest with you....
[That is to say, they both were.]
Would that both groups were more willing to recognize this. Unfortunately, prejudice and fear rule the day. Our societies as they are... will never know any lasting peace.
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I doubt I'll live to see such a thing. Not that I ever will, since I live here now, but you know what I mean.
[Lalafell, if not gobbled up, did live for quite some time (longer than a Hyur at any rate) but that didn't mean her lifespan would be long enough to see the two societies come together.]
People can barely come together to fight a common enemy. Ishgard itself only recently opened its gates to join the Alliance...and it was their ignorance that started the Dragonsong War in the first place.
[She just calls it like she sees it.]
The optimist in me wishes for it above all else...but the realist in me knows peace is ever fleeting and something that needs to be constantly earned and nourished if it is to survive.
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I doubt anyone in the current world will. Not you nor I, nor our collective heroic friends. Even should they survive their habits towards placing themselves in the heart of every passing catastrophe... even they will fade, their deeds consigned to history.
[A mixed, melancholy sort of feeling at that. But he is mollified a bit by Tataru's recognition in the difficulty in getting mortals to work together for a common good.]
You can nourish it as much as you like... but lives are too short. The lessons one generation learns will be forgotten by the next. A peace that needs constantly reformed scarcely qualifies as a peace at all. 'Tis only a pause between miseries.
[A cheerful conversation to have over tea and muffins.]
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He's not wrong though, she'll agree with him on that. Still, despite its fleeting nature, peace was something to strive for. Something to work toward. She opens her mouth to say as much, to reiterate her point, but the kettle begins to whistle and she's startled by the sound. Quickly her attention turns back to the stove as she hurriedly takes the kettle off the heat, carefully pouring the boiling water into the teapot. Once it's all settled she's setting it back on the stove (on a cool burner mind you), cautiously stepping off the chair and taking the teapot with her. Her goal is the table where the muffins and tea cups have been set out - thankfully she manages to reach it without any mishaps.]
That's life though, is it not? Nothing lasts forever - that's what makes the time we share with others so precious, even if it'll be forgotten. The moment something becomes capable of being lost the more it is to be treasured.
[But that's enough moody philosophy for the moment. The last thing she wants is to fall into a fight with him again. So, she waves him over, urging him to take a seat at the table where she's set a muffin out for him.]
Come now, sit, enjoy your muffin while the warmth still lingers. I promise you will. The tea will be ready in a minute.
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--he does manage to stop himself. He didn't particularly want to start an argument that would go nowhere. Occasionally being able to reign himself in counted as learning, didn't it?
So Emet-Selch shuffles slowly towards his designated chair by the kitchen table, settling into it with no small degree of heaviness.]
--I assume you shall be joining me in sharing in the results of your handiwork? I notice that you brought more than enough.
[A small gesture towards the box of muffins that she'd brought with her, before turning towards the one set aside for him. The way he breaks a piece off with his fingers is strikingly laborious, as though even this much was a drain on his stamina.]
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[Whether he wants it or not. Sorry bud.
Once he's seated himself she pours them each a cup of tea, perched upon a chair to reach the table with ease. A plate has been set out for herself as well which soon finds a muffin occupying it once she's nudged Emet's designated tea cup in his direction. Settling down on her knees she picks off a piece of muffin much in the same vein as her Garlean companion, but with far more enthusiasm. It may seem a little uncomfortable to be in a chair in such a position but clearly she's had practice and isn't bothered in the slightest.
Oh the struggle of being short.]
So! Back to my kettle. I've always been curious to ask but Cid is ever so busy and it never seemed appropriate...what was Garlemald like, in your experience? What of the magitek you grew up with? I would love to learn of it all.
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The full truth- as amusing as it would've been to state- was clearly out, but there were plenty of other things to focus on.]
...'Tis a dismal place. Do you know much of the history of the nation? Garleans did not originate in the hostile northern climes of Ilsabard, but were forced there from the more hospitable lands of Aldenard. Unable to manipulate aether in the same way as you... there was little they could do but struggle to survive in lands that no one else desired.
[He pauses to take a sip of tea.]
Of course, much changed with the advent of magitek. Mere survival is much less of an issue, though it's done little to improve the weather. The capital itself is bleak, cold in more than temperature. I'm sure you've seen your share of Castrums built in Eorzea- 'tis a similar style of architecture, if not as wholly militaristic.
--They're not bad. [An abrupt shift, as he points towards his gradually-diminishing treat.] Your muffins.
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The more he describes it however Tataru's shoulders begin to sag just a bit. Dismal and cold. It makes her think back to her time in Ishgard which, despite the city being beautiful in its own right, was chilled not only in temperature but to outsiders as well.
A place driven by its might and military. She can't imagine how anyone can thrive.]
Thank you! Please, help yourself to another.
[She made a bunch...with the intention that he shares, of course, but he can absolutely have more than one. Another piece of muffin is popped into her mouth as she casts her gaze down to the surface of her tea, watching the steam rise.]
I was well acquainted with one of the Empire's Castrums...as a forced guest, you could say. [She had been kidnapped. It sucked. A lot.] I had hoped though the Empire had a bit more joy to it. What of painters and musicians? Dancers and festivities?
[Even uptight Ishgard was a place full of rich culture and reverence for art.]
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And the Ascian would share; he could tell at a glance there was enough for the household.]
The fabled Garlean hospitality.... [A dry tone, and he affects a politely regretful look.] 'Tis fortunate that you managed to survive it.
[Had she been caught up in the capture of someone more valuable, he wondered. Emet-Selch doubted the empire would've targeted a lone accountant, no matter how crafty she was.]
I wouldn't say the empire is wholly bereft of joy, but I wouldn't describe it as pleasant place for most- particularly those with origins outside of Garlemald. While lives did improve with magitek, and more time could be spent on developing the arts- one thing that Solus did encourage, particularly theatrical performances- priorities have always been favoring the military. You could say it's our greatest export.
[An even drier tone, accompanied by a sigh and a faint shake of his head.]
And with Varis now emperor, most artistic endeavors have been suppressed. While Solus did allow critiques of government to be expressed in such a way... his grandson is not quite so lenient.
[Partially to discourage dissension through artistic protest, but mostly to spite the memory of his grandsire, the Ascian was certain. What a petty man.]
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She can't help but perk up a bit though at the mention of theatre - that wasn't what she was expecting to hear. She's grateful to learn of it though and clearly she wants to know more. Another bit of muffin is pulled off and stuffed past her lips, one of her cheeks puffing out, somewhat akin to an overzealous nutkin. It only serves to accentuate her rounded features, before she's swallowing, fingers reaching for her tea.]
He sounds like a much more agreeable man, this Emperor Solus, especially if he was fond of theatre. Can you tell me more about him?
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Did he know much about Solus? Well....]
Agreeable? I suppose you could say that, though he is the one responsible for forming the empire at all... 'twas a republic, before his ascendance. His innovations with technology turned the military into the force that it is now, overcoming our aetherical shortcomings with firepower that far exceeds that of the average magic-bound Eorzean.
[There's little arrogance in his tone though, just a base statement of facts, accompanied by a small shrug.]
But I don't know if that sort of history would be of interest. He was considered charismatic and eccentric both, and quite a popular ruler for the hope he provided to what was a rather downtrodden population... but he had nearly as many enemies.
[A small pause.]
He did not have the easiest life. His first son [The smallest twinge here, barely perceptible.] died of illness whilst still young, and his wife not so many years after. And despite popularity, he was not known to allow anyone at all close.
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He sounds like an interesting man who lead an interesting life.
[She means that in earnest, pausing to take a sip of her tea.]
I can only imagine how lonely he must have felt...to have lost so much.
[With great power comes great responsibility, along with all the trappings of bureaucracy.]
...When I was smaller I remember wishing I could be the Sultana of Ul'dah - we're the same age, you see, and so it was easy enough to fantasize about what it'd be like. Of course, when I grew a bit older I realized how suffocating it would be, to be royalty and tasked to govern over people. There's no treasure or power in the world worth giving up one's personal freedom for, or at least that's how I see it.
[There's another sip before she sets her tea down to go back to her muffin.]
If he did so much for his people I can see why he was respected. Lifting a people out from despair and liberating them is no easy feat to accomplish.
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