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Alphinaud scrunched up his nose in distaste as he watched Estinien, and Danica Voss the wondrous and boisterous warrior of light, speak. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, after all they were both skilled Dragoons and in essence coworkers after Estinien was forced to share his mantle, but it irked him just the same. Most of the time it was brief. Short quick conversations about where they were going and what they were hunting and how they planned to go about it. Battle plans. Maybe a few of Danica’s joke thrown in that Estinien wouldn’t laugh at, though that never seemed to stop her.
Ysayle sighed, another chill wind cut through the Coerthas Highlands, and the lot of them shivered. It had been like this for days now. They’d chat. Danica would make some joke, most likely some dick joke tied to Dragoons weapon of choice, he wouldn’t laugh but his face (or at least what could be seen of his face) would soften for a moment, and then they’d go back on their way in something akin to silence. Or well, as silent as it got with Danica. Cheerful and sunny and over the top as she always is. Poking fun at Alphinaud like an older sister, gently ruffling his hair and keeping him in good spirits. Or talking with Wynne and Marci about some old grand adventure of theirs, or how they’d be sure to go one more. Or talking endless with Willow about some new thaumaturgical rumor or study. Or pestering Neran. She loved to pester Neran.
Wynne gently laid her head upon the taller elezen womans arm, content to watch todays version of the nonsense, trademark of Danica Voss, occur. Ysayle, for her part, cursed that it seemed the others were all busy gathering materials for camp for the evening. Firewood, food, the works, leaving a skeleton crew to watch the show.
Another chill wind blew and Voss visibly shivered, nearly dropping her rapier, which she was explaining some details about intently, to the snowy ground. Ah yes, the thaumaturge turned dragoon turned occasional red mage was use to the desert heat, with Little Ala Mhigo being so close to the Sagolii Desert. She laughed at herself, though the Dragoon she spoke with scowled.
He took a step forward. Danica raised an eyebrow, as did Ysayle. Alphinaud raised both of his and trudged closer to the two women. As if to ask them, with his mere presence, what was going on. Wynne laughed lowly.
Without a thought, Estinien Wyrmblood, Standoffish Dragoon extraordinaire, had grabbed Deedee by the arms and pulled her into a full body hug. Ysayle raised her other eyebrow. Wynne had to stifle her laugh from growing any louder. Alphinaud and Danica however, both let out a sudden heavy rush of breath, startled.
“You are as a snow mound, Voss.” The Dragoon spoke, a crowd of onlooker leaning in to listen. “You are likely to harm yourself, more likely others, with how you shiver so.” Roughly, he rubbed his arms across her back and shoulders, then her arms. Finally, he grasped her hands between his, bringing them to his face, and blowing into them. Yes, just to warm them up.
Alphinaud’s mouth fell open. Wynne cracked a small smile. Ysayle tilted her head, curious, trying to discern the truth of the actions. Was it truly just for warmth?
Estinien lowered her hands from his face, and slowly let them go. Danica’s hands lingered where he released them, as if waiting for the warmth that had wrapped around them to return. She blinked her golden and green eyes, tilted her own head, and then smiled, her face scrunching as it grew malms by the second. “Ah I knew you worried about me!” She took a step back, pointing at him “I knew it!” She laughed, her body shaking as if the shivers had already returned.
He turned on a dime, muttering something none of those gathered could really hear, before pacing off in the forward direction. Danica prancing after him like an energetic, and affectionate, puppy. Gently tapping his arm, poking his side, and ribbing him all the while. At least, that’s what Alphinaud saw, as he let out a relieved exhale and turned to Ysayle and Wynne, giving them a small smile before walking after the two Dragoons.
“Twenty Gil says we catch them together in a weeks time.” Ysayle said, as she wrapped her arm around the Au Ra. “Thirty says its compromising, and at least one of them is lacking a shirt.” Wynne laughed, leaning into the arm around her, watching her friends continue forth.
“I’m not keen on taking bets I know the outcome of. Doesn’t strike me as fair.” Closely watching, with the eyes of a Shinobi, Wynne could see more among her Ala Mhigans friend’s taunts and jokes. How her hand lingered on his arm when it could. How it was he she reached for if her footing was threatened. How she smiled when she spoke to him (or of him). How she sat next to him, leaning into his space, more akin to an affectionate cat than the excited dog she pretended to be as.
“Well then, who should I bring this bet to?” Ysayle asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t believe anyone would work. This show was not nearly as unwatched as you might have thought.” Slowly raising a hand, Wynne waved to the distant, near invisible form, of Marci. Who slowly waved back.
“Plus, I think a better bet would be if they’ll actually manage to talk to each other long enough and honestly enough to deal with their emotions. That I put 50 gil on.”
“Well, put me in for that too.”