Little late to the diety ask but Nemi would bring the finest silks woven into an extravagant coat for him to wear. And of course a bottle of the finest brandy in Ishgard.

Idristan tilts his heat slightly to one side as he curiously lifts up the garments that had been left neatly folded on the offering table. He hums softly as the light fabric glides easily through his fingers. Silk, crafted into a coat luxurious enough for the highest nobility. Or a god.

He carefully tugs it on, admiring the fit and rich color in the reflection of the nearby pool. A fine gift. A very fine gift indeed, made only better by the bottle of Ishgardian brandy set beside it.

“Someone either knows how to treat a god very well,” he muses. Lately he had taken to talking aloud, far more than he had ever had while he was mortal. Perhaps it was because there were few people that could blackmail him now. Or perhaps, as he told himself, that as a god he was entitled and indeed expected to monologue.

It certainly wasn’t because godhood was lonely.

“Or else they want something very, very badly.” He hums once more as he idly studies the label of the bottle. Then he shrugs as he goes over to retrieve a fine crystal glass. Time would likely tell which one it was–and there was no point in letting good alcohol go to waste in the meantime.

♡

Pahja has been working on repairing an Allagan drone for the past couple months (it’s best to just not ask where she got it…). So far it moves, but speech is a bit difficult. It’s unclear whether it’s just saying complete gibberish, or if there’s a message in the nonsense…

Prompt #9: Dense

Idristan sits on the edge of the bed, head held in his hands as he tries to ignore the ringing in his ears and the pain in his jaw. As far as he could tell it hadn’t been broken, but that seemed to be more of a stroke of luck or divine intervention rather than lack of effort. Already he could see the beginnings of a bruise forming; by tomorrow it would be impressive.

“Idiotic,” he growls under his breath. He should never have allowed the other Elezen to get that close, should have never taken his eyes off him, no matter what had been said. His anger was as much directed at himself as Lebeaux, if not more so. He should have known, by now.

He closes his eyes, face twisting in pain as his fingers curl. Solenne couldn’t see him like this. She’d ask questions. Like why he had gone off to confront the other Ishgardian alone in the first place. And he doubted that she would take that he was trying to help her as a good reason.

Solenne… Though he would admit it to no one, Lebeaux’s words had gotten under his skin.

“They’re all lies,” he murmurs. An Inquisitor would say anything, wouldn’t they? Anything at all, if they thought it would get the reaction they wanted.

There was simply no way that he had ever been that dense.

Prompt #8: Stone

Had you ever even suggested the idea to Idristan that he was afraid of caves, he would have laughed in your face, and not just because he would never give a certain Duskwight that amount of satisfaction or ammunition. Caves were unpleasant yes, but hardly frightening–after all, they were hardly inclined to actively trying to kill you, and any other incidents could easily avoided by the simple expedient of bringing a rope and conjuring up some light.

So why, then, was he hesitating so much as he stood at the mouth of this one?

This was supposed to be nothing more than a simple job, after all: go in, clear out any ashkin in the very, very unlikely event they actually existed and were not a figment of the Duskwight owner’s imagination, get paid, leave. It’s something he’s done hundreds of times before, in various types of homes.

And yet… As he looked into the darkness ahead, he could have sworn that he saw one of the shadows shifting, that he caught a brief trill of laughter being carried on the afternoon breeze. Idristan grimaces, reaching down subconsciously to rub at one of his legs. The one that still bore scars from the last time he had decided to brave the darkness underground.

Then he rises, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “I am not afraid,” he mutters under his breath, and then he steps forward, away from the comforting light of the sun.