wrecking_yard (
wrecking_yard) wrote2014-03-22 10:33 pm
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Accidental Nano - Ch. 6
Fandom: FFXIV
Summary: Snowballed Headcanon!
Chapter Summary: Papalymo is not a diplomat, world politics/dating on the timeline, the first of many times visiting the infirmary's triage ward
Warnings: None really.
He wasn't sure what time he'd awoken, except that it was definitely daylight trying to get around the heavy curtains, and there were the fading sounds of a bell tolling the hour; he sat up, muzzy and not sure he actually counted as awake, and spent a few minutes staring at the far wall, slowly working back through where he was and what was going on.
He wasn't there very long before there was a sharp knock at the door, a sound he stared blankly at for a moment.
There was another knock, and he moved to get out of bed, stared at the towel on the ground and then at the small door to the washroom. Somehow, particularly with a third and more insistent knock, the towel seemed like the best option, and he answered the door holding it wrapped awkwardly, leaning around it in a crack instead of opening it fully.
He was still muzzy enough for a moment to stare at the wall on the other side, attempting to parse knocking from an empty hallway; the idea to look down did not come fast enough to avoid an irritable throat-clear.
There was a Lalafell in a black overcoat-robe, giving him an incredibly unimpressed and irritated stare over an armload of folded clothes.
“So you aren't dead! It's halfway through the third cycle; Louisoix would've been here himself, but he's been fighting with the security council since just after dawn.”
He blinked, reaching down to accept the clothes the Lalafell was holding up.
“Thancred, was it? Papalymo.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” He knew that normally he was perfectly capable of normal pleasantries and greetings, but he was still dazed enough for it to come out with just blank confusion, Papalymo squinting at him.
“...If you look this much like a corpse after sleeping like that, I shudder to think what you must've looked like coming in; I thought Louisoix was overestimating that you'd need a couple days to be in decent shape.” A beat, and a moment of consideration. “...You didn't wait for it to dry when you tried to dye the white out, did you.”
Too early for this. “Good morning to you as well-”
“Afternoon.”
“Good afternoon to you as well, lovely day out isn't it?”
“Well, you can't be that dead if you're managing sarcasm already.”
“Are you always the envoy? Or was I just unlucky?”
“Well,” Papalymo started ticking off on fingers, completely deadpan in the face of a cranky bard, “Y'shtola is busy with a few idiots who were less than brilliant testing ways to contain and harness bombs, Urianger is preoccupied obsessing over improving the library's security and refuses to come out of it, and no-one deserves to be subjected to Yda first thing after waking up so she's off in the city picking up something or other.” He finished counting, and fixed the deadpan stare back on Thancred. “I understand you're the last person who needs an explanation why the city guard are in a snit; Gods know when Louisoix will be done there.”
“Am I the reason we're waiting a few days?”
“No.” Papalymo paused, reconsidering. “Not completely; I for one, agree that I'd rather have our 'guide' whole, aware, and alert for this, but really it's more because we need for the guard to stand down and agree to let us handle it, and then at least a good day or so for things to calm down a little.” He crossed his arms. “Louisoix did manage to get them to step down their presence some yesterday.”
“You're trying to get the cult less likely to bolt and scatter.”
“And save the sanity of the people caught in the crossfire. Keep them terrified and on edge enough, long enough, and it just means more people throwing in with the other side out of desperation.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “It's not like the guard can do anything about the root cause of the problem, anyway.”
He nodded thoughtfully; it made sense, and they were at least thinking about the effect on the bystanders – particularly the ones that would catch the brunt of the guards' paranoia.
“At any rate, I need to get going, and you need to get dressed. There's a bakery on the ground level that we've already given a note to expect you on our tab; just tell anyone you're new here and they'll give you directions.” Papalymo gave a half-hearted bow and turned, walking off and leaving Thancred with an armful of clothes; by the time he'd realized that he didn't remember how he'd gotten into the building, the Lalafell was already gone.
He found his way out of the building by a mix of following other people that seemed to be heading out and getting some concept of where the building was and where the door would have to be. He ended up settled in a corner of a sort of common room near the bakery; the building was apparently one of the larger ones, a mix of dormitory floors for older students and some of the scholars, and study or work rooms, with parts kept open for more transient people coming to study or on political visits. It made the common room about as jumbled as one of the market areas that saw a lot of traffic coming in from the seaports, even if it did weight a little towards white coats and Sharlayan crests. Just listening he was picking out a mess of languages. Where he'd settled, the closest was a larger table taken up by a mix of local students and scholars and Ishgardian astrologians having some kind of debate over some odd depictions of the night sky brought in from Mor Dhona, and a smaller, quieter table with a couple of slightly of place looking men in foreign yellow and gold, with clawlike fist-weapons hanging from their belts. Whatever was going on at the smaller table, the “five words and half are curses” he'd ever picked up of Ala Mhigan was no help.
The astronomers moved their debate about whether, of the two depictions of the night sky from Allag they'd found, the older one that omitted Dalamud was an act of symbolism, error, or an accurate depiction of a change in the heavens; it'd actually gotten to be an easy distraction to eavesdrop on. The Ala Mhigans were apparently waiting for someone, judging by how they kept looking up when the door opened. The large table was taken over for a while by a couple of historians that were mostly using it for spreading out a large map and having the space to mess with markers planning possible dig sites for investigating Fifth Astral Era civilizations, and then by a few students that had lingering bandages and poultices and a general air of not wanting to speak of whatever happened.
The sun was starting to set when Louisoix entered; he came in looking weary and a little exasperated, which straightened to a more calm and neutral halfway across the room.
The Ala Mhigans stood as he got close to the corner, both bowing; he returned it, and held up a hand to signal for a moment to Thancred.
He didn't follow any of the exchange that went on, but it was short, and then Louisoix gestured to indicate him. “Reynfred, Chas, this is Thancred, one of my people. Thancred, Reynfred and Chas; they're Fists of Rhalgr, come here after escaping Ala Mhigo.”
He stood, returning the bow he'd seen them do as best he could. There had been people from Ala Mhigo filtering into the city in dire straits, enough that he'd known it had gotten bad under the current king, but he hadn't quite realized it was “the Fists of Rhalgr are fleeing” bad. “You have my condolences; I'd heard Theodoric was going mad, but...”
The younger of the two shook his head slowly; the older glanced to him, and there was a short comment in Ala Mhigan before he responded, accented just enough to be noticeable. “Sadly the King of Ruin may soon be the least of our worries; some of our kinsmen seeking resistance have found aid, but...”
The grave expression Louisoix held was enough for that to be more than worrying.
“The Black Wolf is bad aid.”, the older monk managed.
“They turned to Garlemald?” That was a set of even further rumors filtered in from fleeing refugees, but what had drifted in was horrifying enough – and earned him two questioning looks and Louisoix going grimly bemused. “I've heard stories – people fleeing from as far away as Othard; families killed because one person resisted, children taken from parents...”
Another moment of translation, the older monk nodding soberly before the younger answered. “The one who made the talks has said that we were promised security and safety; there are already Centurions within the city in secret. The one that we had slipped to come....” The monk wrinkled his nose. “Theodoric would banish Rhalgr's name to only honor one of Twelve; Garleans disdain all gods. Warburton is clever, but I think desperation has blinded him.”
“It is a terrible thing.” And one he was all too familiar with.
Louisoix lifted a hand, motioning to the door. “We should continue this in the infirmary, I think; I caught word that your guide was looking better, and I came to find you first before going to check how well.”
“That is a relief to hear.” The monk nodded, an aside to translate for his companion, and Louisoix led the way out, Thancred bringing up the rear.
The infirmary was in a different building altogether; the clouds were starting to look a little more spotty, but there was a noticeable chill out. It was also on the ground floor, a short distance from the entrance to the larger complex it was in, and from the looks of things took up a good part of that floor.
They passed right through the front room, where what looked like one of the students was reading at a desk, fast enough for him to not get a good look around; Louisoix seemed to know where they were heading through the hallway of doors.
They ended in a larger room with worktables, washbasins, and three beds spaced around the room, two of which were occupied. The one nearest the door held a younger Hyur with red blotches on what was visible of his skin, being tended by a lady in a black and gold coat with a bandanna wrapped around her head helping keep her hair back and a shoulder-patch with the black ship on red of Limsa; she seemed focused on arranging poutices, the worktable there covered with a couple mortars and pestles, jars, and vials. The furthest bed was occupied by a dark-haired Elezen that was occasionally trying to stir, something being blocked by a white-haired Miqote lady, the Sharlayan crest on the back of her white coat.
The Miqote looked up as they entered, then over to the other medic. “I need a moment, Lavinia.” The Limsan barely glanced up with a nod, and the Miqote rinsed her hands, then came to the door, first addressing the two monks. Her patient made an attempt at sitting up that didn't get very far, giving up while the other healer was in mid-step over to stop him.
“He still has a fever, but the worst of it has passed; it will only be time, now. You took all the right precautions to get him here alive; dragon venom is a pernicuous problem, and he may not have made it otherwise.”
“That is a relief; thank you for your care.” They bowed to her, a gesture she returned before stepping aside for them to go to him.
“So this is the stray.” She was studying him, one ear cocked.
“Thancred, this is Y'shtola, our conjurer..”
He nodded to that, feeling suddenly self-conscious and with a nagging temptation to put someone else between him and the shorter Miqote.
It wasn't helped when she continued to study him. Finally she seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, a hand alongside her chin. “You are going to be resting until we're ready to move; if anyone tries to say otherwise, kindly direct me to them.” She paused with an earflick. “And if you try to do anything 'clever', I may be forced to hit you with a sleep spell and ensure that you are, in fact, resting.”
He gave Louisoix a helpless glance. “I don't look that bad off do I?”
Louisoix glanced away, not answering, and Y'shtola raised an eyebrow, both ears swiveling back for a moment. “You look like you've neither slept nor eaten for at least a week.”
He opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again.
One of her ears flicked back with a headtilt; there was some sort of conversation going on between the other medic and the monks in Ala Mhigan, the Limsan medic's speech occasionally halting but apparently enough to work. Whatever it was, she had a brief, sly smile at it before her attention returned to them. “How went the meeting?”
Louisoix sighed heavily. “They're backing down partway; fewer patrols and they've agreed to not attempt any arrests that aren't obvious and red-handed, but they're resisting the idea of reducing their presence.”
“That won't do any good.” He'd gained Y'shtola's renewed interest with the comment, and both of them looking to him. “It doesn't matter if they're actively pursuing, them being visible and everywhere will be enough to have people spooked; at this point it's been weeks with them on edge, and anyone poor, innocent or guilty, will be going to ground and 'acting suspicious' for fear of getting blamed on an assumption.”
She tilted her head to Louisoix. “I doubt we have a better authority on the effects of their actions.”
“Unfortunately the poor aren't the only ones that are afraid here, after the cult was established and brazen enough to assault a church.”
Thancred snorted, earning another glance.
“Ah – I didn't know the one responsible very well, but he had to move districts for getting into fights; if he's still as brash as he was a few years ago, he probably did that all on his own.”
Y'shtola's ears lowered. “If it was one of their own being foolish, then our quarry likely pulled back to hide from the fallout e'en before the city guard had time to process what had happened.”
“There have been almost no killings since.”, Louisoix observed.
“Fewer lives lost is a blessing, but it gives us less of a trail to follow; given time, they could relocate halfway across the city with us none the wiser.”
There was a long, quiet, thoughtful pause, all of them considering, although he caught Louisoix watching him partway through it; whatever the background conversation was, it seemed to be going well.
“...Can I get in on some sort of planning session with whoever's been in charge of this?”
He caught edges of Louisoix hiding amusement. “I could arrange that, yes.”
“Well, if we had a map and I could sort out where all of the known killings were, I could narrow down the possible places they could hide; there's probably a few that your people wouldn't know about.”
“And if they are included on the planning, it should be easier to secure their cooperation?” Y'shtola seemed to almost be continuing the thought. “Well, that is part of why you're here, if I recall.”
Louisoix nodded. “I will arrange that tomorrow, then; besides that, we will need to prepare for the part they won't be able to address.” He gave Thancred a look of concern that seemed out of place there.
The Elezen seemed to have calmed down, and the other healer was waiting for them to finish. “I think we've gotten him to accept sleeping for now.”
“Good that we had the help convincing him.” Her eyes flicked to the two monks that were staying close to their 'guide', getting a weary nod from Lavinia.
“Also, Allseer – would you mind if I kidnapped your guests?” The Limsan gestured between them and the two Ala Mhigans.
“If they've agreed to it, I have no objections.” Louisoix inclined his head.
“We had a discussion; our captain has no love for the Garleans, and would adore the chance to stymy them by helping smuggle people out for however long we can get away with it.”
Louisoix smiled. “I think that sounds like an excellent solution. After we've tended to some local matters, I may see if I can be of assistance, Twelve willing.”
Thancred almost raised his hand to ask something, thought better of it, and found himself the center of attention anyway.
“I was just wondering why a Limsan pirate crew's medic would be inland all the way here.”
Y'shtola covered her mouth, stepping back; Lavinia actually laughed. “One of my shipmates took leave to visit his sister who lives here, and the captain insisted I go with; he caught a fever en route, so I've been volunteering until he recovers. She should be here soon, in fact.”
He nodded; that would explain a lot of it.
“I can give our guests instructions how to contact you, if you wish to take your leave.” Y'shtola gestured between Lavinia and the door. “I should return to work anyway; and I should be able to handle their over-brave Ishgardian friend and our over-brave student from here.” There was something about her expression that had him feeling like there was a private joke he was missing.
“Thank you, Y'shtola.”
“We should likely be on our way as well, then.” Y'shtola nodded to Louisoix, who returned it.
He let Louisoix and Lavinia lead; the door to the lobby had already closed when he spotted who was waiting in the room, and suddenly wished he'd thought to stay and volunteer to help Y'shtola.
The inspector's marksman, at least, seemed to be having just as much of an awkward blink at him.
Summary: Snowballed Headcanon!
Chapter Summary: Papalymo is not a diplomat, world politics/dating on the timeline, the first of many times visiting the infirmary's triage ward
Warnings: None really.
He wasn't sure what time he'd awoken, except that it was definitely daylight trying to get around the heavy curtains, and there were the fading sounds of a bell tolling the hour; he sat up, muzzy and not sure he actually counted as awake, and spent a few minutes staring at the far wall, slowly working back through where he was and what was going on.
He wasn't there very long before there was a sharp knock at the door, a sound he stared blankly at for a moment.
There was another knock, and he moved to get out of bed, stared at the towel on the ground and then at the small door to the washroom. Somehow, particularly with a third and more insistent knock, the towel seemed like the best option, and he answered the door holding it wrapped awkwardly, leaning around it in a crack instead of opening it fully.
He was still muzzy enough for a moment to stare at the wall on the other side, attempting to parse knocking from an empty hallway; the idea to look down did not come fast enough to avoid an irritable throat-clear.
There was a Lalafell in a black overcoat-robe, giving him an incredibly unimpressed and irritated stare over an armload of folded clothes.
“So you aren't dead! It's halfway through the third cycle; Louisoix would've been here himself, but he's been fighting with the security council since just after dawn.”
He blinked, reaching down to accept the clothes the Lalafell was holding up.
“Thancred, was it? Papalymo.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” He knew that normally he was perfectly capable of normal pleasantries and greetings, but he was still dazed enough for it to come out with just blank confusion, Papalymo squinting at him.
“...If you look this much like a corpse after sleeping like that, I shudder to think what you must've looked like coming in; I thought Louisoix was overestimating that you'd need a couple days to be in decent shape.” A beat, and a moment of consideration. “...You didn't wait for it to dry when you tried to dye the white out, did you.”
Too early for this. “Good morning to you as well-”
“Afternoon.”
“Good afternoon to you as well, lovely day out isn't it?”
“Well, you can't be that dead if you're managing sarcasm already.”
“Are you always the envoy? Or was I just unlucky?”
“Well,” Papalymo started ticking off on fingers, completely deadpan in the face of a cranky bard, “Y'shtola is busy with a few idiots who were less than brilliant testing ways to contain and harness bombs, Urianger is preoccupied obsessing over improving the library's security and refuses to come out of it, and no-one deserves to be subjected to Yda first thing after waking up so she's off in the city picking up something or other.” He finished counting, and fixed the deadpan stare back on Thancred. “I understand you're the last person who needs an explanation why the city guard are in a snit; Gods know when Louisoix will be done there.”
“Am I the reason we're waiting a few days?”
“No.” Papalymo paused, reconsidering. “Not completely; I for one, agree that I'd rather have our 'guide' whole, aware, and alert for this, but really it's more because we need for the guard to stand down and agree to let us handle it, and then at least a good day or so for things to calm down a little.” He crossed his arms. “Louisoix did manage to get them to step down their presence some yesterday.”
“You're trying to get the cult less likely to bolt and scatter.”
“And save the sanity of the people caught in the crossfire. Keep them terrified and on edge enough, long enough, and it just means more people throwing in with the other side out of desperation.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “It's not like the guard can do anything about the root cause of the problem, anyway.”
He nodded thoughtfully; it made sense, and they were at least thinking about the effect on the bystanders – particularly the ones that would catch the brunt of the guards' paranoia.
“At any rate, I need to get going, and you need to get dressed. There's a bakery on the ground level that we've already given a note to expect you on our tab; just tell anyone you're new here and they'll give you directions.” Papalymo gave a half-hearted bow and turned, walking off and leaving Thancred with an armful of clothes; by the time he'd realized that he didn't remember how he'd gotten into the building, the Lalafell was already gone.
He found his way out of the building by a mix of following other people that seemed to be heading out and getting some concept of where the building was and where the door would have to be. He ended up settled in a corner of a sort of common room near the bakery; the building was apparently one of the larger ones, a mix of dormitory floors for older students and some of the scholars, and study or work rooms, with parts kept open for more transient people coming to study or on political visits. It made the common room about as jumbled as one of the market areas that saw a lot of traffic coming in from the seaports, even if it did weight a little towards white coats and Sharlayan crests. Just listening he was picking out a mess of languages. Where he'd settled, the closest was a larger table taken up by a mix of local students and scholars and Ishgardian astrologians having some kind of debate over some odd depictions of the night sky brought in from Mor Dhona, and a smaller, quieter table with a couple of slightly of place looking men in foreign yellow and gold, with clawlike fist-weapons hanging from their belts. Whatever was going on at the smaller table, the “five words and half are curses” he'd ever picked up of Ala Mhigan was no help.
The astronomers moved their debate about whether, of the two depictions of the night sky from Allag they'd found, the older one that omitted Dalamud was an act of symbolism, error, or an accurate depiction of a change in the heavens; it'd actually gotten to be an easy distraction to eavesdrop on. The Ala Mhigans were apparently waiting for someone, judging by how they kept looking up when the door opened. The large table was taken over for a while by a couple of historians that were mostly using it for spreading out a large map and having the space to mess with markers planning possible dig sites for investigating Fifth Astral Era civilizations, and then by a few students that had lingering bandages and poultices and a general air of not wanting to speak of whatever happened.
The sun was starting to set when Louisoix entered; he came in looking weary and a little exasperated, which straightened to a more calm and neutral halfway across the room.
The Ala Mhigans stood as he got close to the corner, both bowing; he returned it, and held up a hand to signal for a moment to Thancred.
He didn't follow any of the exchange that went on, but it was short, and then Louisoix gestured to indicate him. “Reynfred, Chas, this is Thancred, one of my people. Thancred, Reynfred and Chas; they're Fists of Rhalgr, come here after escaping Ala Mhigo.”
He stood, returning the bow he'd seen them do as best he could. There had been people from Ala Mhigo filtering into the city in dire straits, enough that he'd known it had gotten bad under the current king, but he hadn't quite realized it was “the Fists of Rhalgr are fleeing” bad. “You have my condolences; I'd heard Theodoric was going mad, but...”
The younger of the two shook his head slowly; the older glanced to him, and there was a short comment in Ala Mhigan before he responded, accented just enough to be noticeable. “Sadly the King of Ruin may soon be the least of our worries; some of our kinsmen seeking resistance have found aid, but...”
The grave expression Louisoix held was enough for that to be more than worrying.
“The Black Wolf is bad aid.”, the older monk managed.
“They turned to Garlemald?” That was a set of even further rumors filtered in from fleeing refugees, but what had drifted in was horrifying enough – and earned him two questioning looks and Louisoix going grimly bemused. “I've heard stories – people fleeing from as far away as Othard; families killed because one person resisted, children taken from parents...”
Another moment of translation, the older monk nodding soberly before the younger answered. “The one who made the talks has said that we were promised security and safety; there are already Centurions within the city in secret. The one that we had slipped to come....” The monk wrinkled his nose. “Theodoric would banish Rhalgr's name to only honor one of Twelve; Garleans disdain all gods. Warburton is clever, but I think desperation has blinded him.”
“It is a terrible thing.” And one he was all too familiar with.
Louisoix lifted a hand, motioning to the door. “We should continue this in the infirmary, I think; I caught word that your guide was looking better, and I came to find you first before going to check how well.”
“That is a relief to hear.” The monk nodded, an aside to translate for his companion, and Louisoix led the way out, Thancred bringing up the rear.
The infirmary was in a different building altogether; the clouds were starting to look a little more spotty, but there was a noticeable chill out. It was also on the ground floor, a short distance from the entrance to the larger complex it was in, and from the looks of things took up a good part of that floor.
They passed right through the front room, where what looked like one of the students was reading at a desk, fast enough for him to not get a good look around; Louisoix seemed to know where they were heading through the hallway of doors.
They ended in a larger room with worktables, washbasins, and three beds spaced around the room, two of which were occupied. The one nearest the door held a younger Hyur with red blotches on what was visible of his skin, being tended by a lady in a black and gold coat with a bandanna wrapped around her head helping keep her hair back and a shoulder-patch with the black ship on red of Limsa; she seemed focused on arranging poutices, the worktable there covered with a couple mortars and pestles, jars, and vials. The furthest bed was occupied by a dark-haired Elezen that was occasionally trying to stir, something being blocked by a white-haired Miqote lady, the Sharlayan crest on the back of her white coat.
The Miqote looked up as they entered, then over to the other medic. “I need a moment, Lavinia.” The Limsan barely glanced up with a nod, and the Miqote rinsed her hands, then came to the door, first addressing the two monks. Her patient made an attempt at sitting up that didn't get very far, giving up while the other healer was in mid-step over to stop him.
“He still has a fever, but the worst of it has passed; it will only be time, now. You took all the right precautions to get him here alive; dragon venom is a pernicuous problem, and he may not have made it otherwise.”
“That is a relief; thank you for your care.” They bowed to her, a gesture she returned before stepping aside for them to go to him.
“So this is the stray.” She was studying him, one ear cocked.
“Thancred, this is Y'shtola, our conjurer..”
He nodded to that, feeling suddenly self-conscious and with a nagging temptation to put someone else between him and the shorter Miqote.
It wasn't helped when she continued to study him. Finally she seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, a hand alongside her chin. “You are going to be resting until we're ready to move; if anyone tries to say otherwise, kindly direct me to them.” She paused with an earflick. “And if you try to do anything 'clever', I may be forced to hit you with a sleep spell and ensure that you are, in fact, resting.”
He gave Louisoix a helpless glance. “I don't look that bad off do I?”
Louisoix glanced away, not answering, and Y'shtola raised an eyebrow, both ears swiveling back for a moment. “You look like you've neither slept nor eaten for at least a week.”
He opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again.
One of her ears flicked back with a headtilt; there was some sort of conversation going on between the other medic and the monks in Ala Mhigan, the Limsan medic's speech occasionally halting but apparently enough to work. Whatever it was, she had a brief, sly smile at it before her attention returned to them. “How went the meeting?”
Louisoix sighed heavily. “They're backing down partway; fewer patrols and they've agreed to not attempt any arrests that aren't obvious and red-handed, but they're resisting the idea of reducing their presence.”
“That won't do any good.” He'd gained Y'shtola's renewed interest with the comment, and both of them looking to him. “It doesn't matter if they're actively pursuing, them being visible and everywhere will be enough to have people spooked; at this point it's been weeks with them on edge, and anyone poor, innocent or guilty, will be going to ground and 'acting suspicious' for fear of getting blamed on an assumption.”
She tilted her head to Louisoix. “I doubt we have a better authority on the effects of their actions.”
“Unfortunately the poor aren't the only ones that are afraid here, after the cult was established and brazen enough to assault a church.”
Thancred snorted, earning another glance.
“Ah – I didn't know the one responsible very well, but he had to move districts for getting into fights; if he's still as brash as he was a few years ago, he probably did that all on his own.”
Y'shtola's ears lowered. “If it was one of their own being foolish, then our quarry likely pulled back to hide from the fallout e'en before the city guard had time to process what had happened.”
“There have been almost no killings since.”, Louisoix observed.
“Fewer lives lost is a blessing, but it gives us less of a trail to follow; given time, they could relocate halfway across the city with us none the wiser.”
There was a long, quiet, thoughtful pause, all of them considering, although he caught Louisoix watching him partway through it; whatever the background conversation was, it seemed to be going well.
“...Can I get in on some sort of planning session with whoever's been in charge of this?”
He caught edges of Louisoix hiding amusement. “I could arrange that, yes.”
“Well, if we had a map and I could sort out where all of the known killings were, I could narrow down the possible places they could hide; there's probably a few that your people wouldn't know about.”
“And if they are included on the planning, it should be easier to secure their cooperation?” Y'shtola seemed to almost be continuing the thought. “Well, that is part of why you're here, if I recall.”
Louisoix nodded. “I will arrange that tomorrow, then; besides that, we will need to prepare for the part they won't be able to address.” He gave Thancred a look of concern that seemed out of place there.
The Elezen seemed to have calmed down, and the other healer was waiting for them to finish. “I think we've gotten him to accept sleeping for now.”
“Good that we had the help convincing him.” Her eyes flicked to the two monks that were staying close to their 'guide', getting a weary nod from Lavinia.
“Also, Allseer – would you mind if I kidnapped your guests?” The Limsan gestured between them and the two Ala Mhigans.
“If they've agreed to it, I have no objections.” Louisoix inclined his head.
“We had a discussion; our captain has no love for the Garleans, and would adore the chance to stymy them by helping smuggle people out for however long we can get away with it.”
Louisoix smiled. “I think that sounds like an excellent solution. After we've tended to some local matters, I may see if I can be of assistance, Twelve willing.”
Thancred almost raised his hand to ask something, thought better of it, and found himself the center of attention anyway.
“I was just wondering why a Limsan pirate crew's medic would be inland all the way here.”
Y'shtola covered her mouth, stepping back; Lavinia actually laughed. “One of my shipmates took leave to visit his sister who lives here, and the captain insisted I go with; he caught a fever en route, so I've been volunteering until he recovers. She should be here soon, in fact.”
He nodded; that would explain a lot of it.
“I can give our guests instructions how to contact you, if you wish to take your leave.” Y'shtola gestured between Lavinia and the door. “I should return to work anyway; and I should be able to handle their over-brave Ishgardian friend and our over-brave student from here.” There was something about her expression that had him feeling like there was a private joke he was missing.
“Thank you, Y'shtola.”
“We should likely be on our way as well, then.” Y'shtola nodded to Louisoix, who returned it.
He let Louisoix and Lavinia lead; the door to the lobby had already closed when he spotted who was waiting in the room, and suddenly wished he'd thought to stay and volunteer to help Y'shtola.
The inspector's marksman, at least, seemed to be having just as much of an awkward blink at him.