Tag: lebeaux desrosiers

blackrose-ffxiv:

Non-Aggression Treaty 10/13

Idristan Agache lets out a long sigh as
he walks into Wineport. He looked tired, though for once it seemed to be less
exhaustion and more sleeplessness, if the circles under his eyes were any
indication. From the look on his face, he was in an even more grumpy mood than
usual too, something that the morning (or well, approaching afternoon) sun was
doing nothing to help. He was dressed casually, and though he had his staff
with him, he certainly didn’t seem to be expecting trouble. Which would perhaps end up being a mistake.

Lebeaux Desrosiers arrived at Wineport and
dusted a bit of dirt from his cloak immediately. The outer towns and villages
were always so… dirty. Yet he could see the charm of Wineport. The rolling
green fields and proud stone structures did strike a chord, they were almost
reminiscent of Coerthas before the snow. The information had indeed proven
correct and there was a white-clad elezen with hair to match and a staff far too
pretty for his miserable talents as a conjurer. Idristan. Lebeaux followed after, though he was careful to
remain out of striking distance for now. “Good afternoon.” He offered
cheerfully, his smug smile already in place. “Drinking away your sorrows or
have you come to find work as a field hand. Perhaps even you won’t be able to
muck that up.”

Idristan starts and whirls on his
heel at the familiar voice. “Oh, for the love of Halone,” he mutters
irritably under his breath. “Lebeaux,” he says, his voice as cold as
ice as his hands ball into fists at his sides. “I have no idea what
sorrows you’re talking about,” he declares. “And perhaps you should
be the one considering field work. Perhaps you would find more success in that
than in duels.”

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blackrose-ffxiv:

A Little Unorthodox 10/01

The note Lebeaux Desrosiers had sent was
penned in a careful and precise block rather than a flowing script. As though
one was unfamiliar with the letters or perhaps working on practicing. That’s
what happened when you hired a Hingan scribe to pen a letter in Eorzean. At
least it was legible. It requested Lionnet’s presence at the Shirogane
Tradehouse at his earliest convenience. Lebeaux waited patiently, preparing tea
as he waited for his guest’s arrival.

Time passes, but eventually a
knock sounds at the door. One, two, three raps on the door, not obnoxiously
loud, nor too quiet.

Lebeaux called out cheerfully. “It’s open,
do come in.” He turned to face the door, a cup of tea in his left hand. If it
was his guest, all was well and he would find the medic smiling his standard
saintly smile in the opulent office. If it was a more unpleasant visitor. Well
a cup of hot tea to the face would be enough to buy a few seconds to finish the
spell he had begun pre-emptively weaving.

Lionnet Blodoint opens the door slowly and steps
inside, bowing stiffly. “Good evening, Mister Desrosiers. How are
you?”

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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.

blackrose-ffxiv:

Guilty as Charged Part 2 09/21

The focus slipped from Lebeaux Desrosiers’ fingers as the aether was
drained. He had been using his own body as a conduit for the over-charged
aether of the area yet he wasn’t able to keep up as it was drained just as
quickly as he could gather it. Idristan looked up at him in shock and the
chirurgeon smiled. “Did you hear it?” He finally released the other’s wrist and
pushed away from him, taking a few stumbling steps back before he sat hard in
the snow. If he was careful maybe he’d have enough aether left to heal his own
wounds, yet that would require this ending now. Even with the connection broken
the voices remained, far quieter, but they were seeped into the aether and
would remain until the other left proximity to the source. “Enough.” He called
out to Gilbert without getting up.

Gilbert Viscart still felt the daze of white, but even so, he advanced towards the voice.
“Do you wish to yield?” he asked of Lebeaux. With his eyes mere slits
he looked between the pair.

Idristan Agache just stares silently at Lebeaux, still trying to process what he had heard. Or
rather, was still hearing. He lets the other medic slip away, only belatedly
letting his outstretched hand drop. Though it is subtle, his fingers are still
shaking, though perhaps for a slightly different reason now. He frowns, his
brow furrowing as he realizes that the voices, while quieter, still hadn’t
faded. “What in the seven hells have you done,” he finally hisses
towards Lebeaux, only to turn warily as Gilbert
approached. Then his eyes flick back to Lebeaux, his lip curling as he looks
down at him. “It’s done,” he states.

Gilbert
had heard Idristan’s words, but it was not the formal surrender he had hoped
for. “Does the accused wish to yield?” he asked in a louder voice,
his blue eyes now set on Lebeaux, the black robes splayed out in the snow.

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blackrose-ffxiv:

Guilty as Charged Part 1 09/21

The snow spilled out over the
landscape of the Coerthan Western Highlands,
the thick, frozen layers on the ground topped up by crunchier snow, and
light flakes that blew with the wind. Amidst the greys and whites and blues sat
a lonely tower that overlooked a perilous cliff. It shone with the warmth of
candles, kept burning by those few faithful who still made pilgrimages to this
place, the last of the twelve towers. Gilbert Viscart sat on one knee, his blade in one
hand, his head bent in prayer. Even so, he could hear the sound
of others approaching. Two people he had invited here.

Idristan Agache’s boots crunched through
the snow as he slowly approached the stone tower. His hand was resting on the
hilt of the sword at his side and he seems a bit on edge, though that lessens
slightly as he realizes that it was just Gilbert and not Lebeaux. Not yet. His
eyes wander up towards the tower, his lips pursing as he notes the candles.
“An interesting choice,” he muses as he approaches the knight, before
turning slightly so he could see the too narrow approach here. “I suppose
he’s going for fashionably late,”
he muses under his breath as he toys with the hilt of his rapier.

Gilbert continues to murmur a
moment more as he says a conventional folk prayer to the different aspects of
Halone. The deathbringer. The unyielding. The ever-victorious. The spear. She
who will not abide. Finally he rises, making a simple gesture of acknowledgement
before turning towards Idristan. “Ser Agache”, he says simply.

Lebeaux Desrosiers made his way through
the snows towards the Ninth Vare, finding two figures already waiting for him.
He stopped at the base of the stairs, lowering his head briefly and performing
a sacred gesture over himself before he began to ascend. Normally he would have
arrived early to investigate the place of battle, yet there was no need this
time. He was familiar with the site as well, its significance and there was the
desire to create an impression upon his arrival. He wore somber black robes of the clergy and at his
hip hung a far more understated sword than his last dueling piece. He intended
to play the full extent of whatever lingering reverence there may be for the
cloth in his opponent, and as ever the saintly smile curved his lips. As he
made his way up the stairs his eyes narrowed when he realized just who stood
there. “You are you the accuser?” He scoffed as he stood with Gilbert and
Idristan.

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blackrose-ffxiv:

Local Theater 09/07

Michaux
Vidal looks a little uncomfortable as he and Idristan step across the
threshold of the Gilded Fan. The interior is opulent, and there’s a hint of a
spice and floral fragrances in the air. Michaux rolls a shoulder and touches
his hand briefly to the sword at his side, as if to assure himself it’s still
there. Not usually how one reacts to finding oneself in a brothel, but he’s
been feeling on edge since his night with Lord Ishiku. “So… are you
planning to buy Madam Mori’s services, then?” he murmurs. “You’re
the one who looks important enough to be here. I feel like I should stand
somewhere and be window dressing.”

Idristan Agache didn’t seem much happier than Michaux–and perhaps more importantly, he’s
seemed distracted all throughout the way over here. Enough, perhaps, that he
wouldn’t have noticed if a certain chirurgeon had decided to follow them.
Again. Which perhaps shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, given the whole
tricking him regarding a meeting business. “I suppose,” he says
quietly to Michaux, though without much enthusiasm. “And don’t do that.
You’ll bring the mood down,” he adds dryly.

The
door opened once more with the quiet
sound of chimes to mark the movement as another ‘guest’ stepped through
right behind the first two. “Honestly you both look utterly ridiculous.” Lebeaux Desrosiers said flatly, his smile ever present though the eyes like ice chips gave away
that he was less than pleased to find these two skulking around again. “First
bathhouses for meetings with strange men and now brothels.” He mused, tapping a
finger thoughtfully against his cheek. “Speaking of
meetings, I suppose it slipped your collective minds that it was to take place
at the inn.”

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blackrose-ffxiv:

Confidence Men 08/31

Michaux Vidal runs
his fingers through his hair, which the steam is already causing to poof up a
bit. He seems to be in an unusually good mood, despite having to frequently
remove his fogged-up glasses to clean them. “I’ve never met an Hingan
noble before,” he comments. “They can’t be worse than Ishgardian
nobles, can they?” He glances over at Idristan, but his eyes end up
lingering on his bare chest rather than his face. One corner of his mouth
twitches. “There are other benefits to not being in Ishgard.”

Idristan Agache wrinkles his nose slightly in distaste. “Definitely not,” he says
firmly–so firmly, in fact, that one might think that he had a certain specific
noble in mind. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be in a good mood–but
then, this was hardly new. He lets out a huff, then he looks over to Michaux,
eyes narrowing as he caught sight of that faint hint of a smile. He follows
Michaux’s gaze, then he rolls his eyes. “Stay focused,” he grumbles
quietly. “We’re not here so you can gawk at me.”

Lebeaux Desrosiers deserved a nice relaxing soak. The past moons had been hectic, to say the
least. Nothing would be better treatment than a few bells spent soaking. Well,
it was a bit boring to be quite honest, but at least it was a less taxing
pastime than most of his usual hobbies. He was well into a good soak when a
mention of Ishgard drifted to long ears. Not once, but twice. He rose to his
feet and waded through the warm water to fetch a shirt and towel, dabbing sweat
and steam from his face as he glanced in the
direction the sound had come from. A familiar silverhaired sullen silhouette
and… another elezen. His standard small smile grew somewhat, yet he didn’t go
straight over. The mysterious ex, perhaps?

Michaux grins. “Right, that’s just a side benefit. My goal today is to
perform my boyfriend so outrageously that Sol will have to come back just to
kick me in the nuts. She has a strong kick, but I will happily make the
sacrifice.” As he speaks, a Hingan man in fine clothes enters the baths
followed by a male servant. Mich doesn’t immediately spot him – his poor
eyesight is only compounded by the steam – but he hears him speaking imperiously
to the servant. “That would be our guest, I assume. He only made you wait a
short time. He must have some respect for the Ishgardian peerage. What a
mistake.”

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blackrose-ffxiv:

Shadowing 08/28

Idristan Agache seemed…well. Distracted was perhaps an understatement as he prowled the
streets of Kugane. He moved like someone on a mission, every now and then
stopping to ask a question here and there, and seemingly growing more
frustrated as each answer got him no closer to what he wanted. Finally he
pauses to lean against one of the rough stone walls. He seemed paler than
usual, and definitely more tired-looking, suggesting that perhaps he had had
reason to be throwing around power again. Or merely being negligent
again. One of the two.

Something
was certainly off with Idristan. First of all, it had been a laughably simple
matter to follow the other Chirurgeon. He never even seemed to look up nor
back, believing that he was entirely impervious to harm in the bustling port
town. While it was true enough that Kugane had become awash with foreigners, it
still was easy enough to pick out the other Ishgardian. Lebeaux Desrosiers hung back a
ways, casually following along after the other until he finally stopped. While
it was amusing to play at shinobi, it was
quickly becoming boring as there didn’t seem to be any sort of end goal. “Lost
something?” The question was posed quietly, sounding thoroughly amused as the
medic tilted his hat back slightly to smirk smugly down his nose at his ragged-looking
assistant.

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