spira_rp | Killers everywhere, it ain't no place to run.

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Killers everywhere, it ain't no place to run.

The Desert Palace, all in all, wasn't such a bad place.

Tyki rather liked it. It was almost lively under the near funereal, subdued air. There might have been a fog hanging over everything, the heavy weight of a member missing, but underneath that was a subtle layer of anticipation, a mountain-stream burble of excitement at what the meeting might hold. For those normally resident, the reaction to strangers was mixed. Some approached the situation with their heads held high, giving no indication one way or another how they felt about the sudden intrusion. Others seemed nervous, the unknown quantities enough to frighten them, not that they broadcasted it. For the minions, there seemed to be a novelty to it. It almost seemed to take the edge off the fear the Arrancar were harbouring.

Almost.

Neliel, however, apparently Sosuke Aizen's biggest fan, seemed positively mired in it. There were moments when she came out of herself a little, but it was obvious that he was on her mind. Him, or her precarious position.

The young girl Road had taken to seemed less concerned, but it was possible she didn't understand the gravity of her situation. The short man with the pet Malboro covered whatever worries he had with a bright veneer of smirking sarcasm, but Tyki could practically smell the fear on him. The lanky Tag with the attitude problem didn't give anything away, instead choosing to sneer one-eyed at everybody, teeth grit and bared like an animal caged, as though he didn't care whether he lived or died so long as he got to sink his teeth into somebody. It was possible this was the case, but Tyki had rarely seen somebody who didn't care when it came down to it. Perhaps he'd get to see his real feelings on the matter after the meeting's conclusion. That might be fun.

The others hadn't presented themselves for inspection.

Tyki found himself enjoying it all. Road was keeping an eye on things, doing her best impression of a precocious young girl there under Tyki's watchful eye, but the reverse was probably more true. She knew more than he did, about everything. It was her who told him what would become of the Arrancar if things went south, her who told him about the members he had never heard of, who he'd never bothered to read the backgrounds of. He simply watched and enjoyed.

What had surprised him was that the majority of the members present and, indeed, those expected, were natives of their own floating continent, and not Ivalice. Some of the residents were certainly lowerworlders, but all of the visitors seemed to come from Niflheim, Lucis or the Jyllandi Union. Was it merely a trip for them, a chance for the to size each other up on neutral ground, with Aizen's imprisonment serving as little more than window dressing? That was possible. None of the had any real personal investment in the man, nor his continued safety, or that of his underlings. He suspected Kreeth was simply there for the holiday.

There hadn't been any newcomers for a few days. The last had been the two from the Union and before those, the Lucian envoys, apparent nobodies there in the stead of somebody important. It was probably fortunate the absent lowerworlders didn't send the same in their places, or the palace would run the risk of being standing room only, with underlings turfed out of their rooms to house the temporarily higher-ranked dogs of members. Road said they were still waiting on a woman from Reseune, a town that bordered the two major halves of the Niflheim Empire, and some mid-tier noble from Nagapur who Road, all full of childlike delight, was expecting to kick off at some point during her stay.

There had been some arrivals last night, but they'd come in without fanfare, or announcement. They felt familiar, so Tyki assumed they were residential minions, gone and returned. He'd soon find out, anyway. He'd left his hat and cane in his room, but still made sure to dress nicely. His white side wasn't welcome in such a place, and the black was far, far classier. He found himself gravitating to the kitchen without effort and he was almost surprised how quick such a thing had happened. Perhaps that was how the palace got you.

He pushed open the door.

"Good morning," he said.

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"It is a bit," Tyki said. "I'm not sure formal is the word, though. Old ..." he thought for a moment "...style, maybe." He paused again. "Archaic." He added, in his native tongue, for clarification. "Stuffy," he included, unnecessarily.

He wasn't wrong, though. Ignis's dialect was strange to Überwaldean ears. The accent was weird and some of the word choices were off, though the same could be said of his to them, and no doubt Integra and her dog. The Überwald dialect was considered a relic of parts of his own country, with the more modern Union Jyllandi being spoken in Ueltham, home of their capital.

"I learned late," he admitted. He watched Ignis present the meal with a smile. Not even he could deny that Nel's breakfast looked, and smelled, rather good. "That means 'enjoy'," he clarified.

Ignis tried not to let the description of his language as 'stuffy' get to him. He'd heard it before. He'd almost certainly hear it again.

Old... style. Doubtless Tyki meant fashioned. He knew Gladio would likely agree on that note. His highness, too, if he was asked.

He turned back to prepare Tyki's egg, and resisted the voice that pointed out how easily he could tamper with the meal. Ignis was above such tactics, however offended he might be.

Nel looked at the plate placed in front of her with wide eyes. It looked amazing for something Ignis had whipped together in the space of ten minutes.

"I intend to, thank you," she said. She put her knife through the yolk and into the bread below. The bread was crisp, and the yolk ran down in the trail of her knife.

"For what it's worth," she said, as she sliced her breakfast in half, "you do both speak Standard extremely well."

"Him better than me," Tyki said, quite honestly, with a bit of a smile.

Ignis was clearly well-educated. He was there as an envoy, so he wasn't stupid. He wasn't just a minion, he was likely trained to deal with people, so he wasn't going to show his hand, or act up in front of other members, especially not him. It must have been a wrench to cook for him, but politeness came first.

"Ivalician seems as varied as Jyllandi, at least," he added. Could it be described as standard, if that was the case? Nnoitra spoke differently to Nel, who sounded entirely different to either of the member Selkies he'd met. Perhaps it could, by those who considered their language the norm, and anything other as 'nonstandard'. "I'm glad my accent hasn't carried over too much. It's considered quite ... rough."

Ignis would no doubt attest to that.

"Have you ever considered learning?" He asked of Nel, suddenly aware of a presence approaching the door to the kitchen.

The presence in question, was Apache.

They'd got back late from their trip out. They'd stayed out longer than they needed to after wrangling the Aizen brats, just to keep the assholes, herself included, away from any visiting members of the Clan. Szayel was their primary concern, according to Nel. Grimmow and Yylfordt's egotistical macho nonsense was a secondary one.

She'd gone straight to bed, exhausted from the effort of putting up with Szayel without throwing him bodily from the Ragnarok into the desert, or the sea. She didn't, however, sleep particularly well, not with all the new reiatsus in the palace, so when she'd woken she'd showered, and dressed, and headed to the kitchen for some coffee.

There were two strangers in there, but she was tired, and she didn't care if it was a grouchy behemoth so long as it didn't get in the way of the kettle. She didn't fancy a grouchy behemoth's chances against Nel, anyway, and she could feel her there as well.

Nel felt Apache's approach, and was briefly relieved that out of the possible firstcomers to the kitchen out of the returning parade from yesterday, it was her. The other options, Grimmjow, Yylfordt, Szayel were less appealing given present company.

"I think I'm a little old to be picking up new languages now," she told Tyki, giving him a slightly self conscious smile.

She cut off the first piece of breakfast and took a bite. Immediately she groaned, and looked at Ignis, making sure to chew, and swallow, before she said, "This is beautiful."

Ignis retrieved the second sandwich from the oven, positioning it carefully on the place while Tyki spoke to Nel. After a quick basting with hot butter, the second egg was ready, and he slid the completed dish across the table so it rested in front of Tyki.

Nel's reaction drew a smile from him. "Thank you," he said, wearing a genuine, slightly flattered smile. That reaction was what he enjoyed the most about cooking. The act was therapeutic, but the reactions were his favourite part. It was the only role he had where the looks on people's faces assured him of a job well done with such consistency.

Someone else was approaching the kitchen. Ignis hadn't encountered this person before, although the reiatsu was familiar enough to the Palace's background noise that he could hazard a guess at it being one of the returning Arrancar.

Tyki was nearly offended that he didn't get a flourish like Nel had, but he didn't complain. He'd just have to weather the indignation. It did look good though, and the pleased expression that crossed his grey face, eyebrows raised, certainly said that much.

He cut into it, letting the egg's yolk ooze over the sandwich, and brought it to his mouth with a fork. He'd debated eating it like a normal sandwich, with his fingers, but if Nel was using cutlery, it was probably better if he didn't drip egg and sandwich filling everywhere. It wouldn't do to shatter the illusion of his gentlemanly nature for nothing.

He tried it, and, while he didn't groan like Nel did, his yellow eyes did light up a touch.

"This is delicious," he said, in Jyllandi, talking around the food, instead of after it.

Apache pushed the door open and eyed the two strangers. She caught what the one of the said, but didn't react. Well, she did react, but it was more that her surprise at hearing her own language spoken in the palace kitchen looked very much like confusion at hearing a foreign tongue.

"Morning," she said, flatly.

And then she took in the newcomers a little more. One of them was... grey. The one who had spoken, in fact. There was only one clan that she could think of that had skin of that colour, and the strong Überwald accent just filled in her suspicions as to what, if not who, he was. A Noah, at a guess. A member of the Kamelot family, one of the many weird Mist-altered families in Niflheim, those who had been handing down their mutations for so long they were considered bloodline limits, rather than imperfections. They didn't need to wear... she scowled, trying to ignore the thought. They were pretty high up in the noble set, well known enough, but she didn't now how much beyond the borders of Niflheim. She knew, because her hometown was just across the border.

The other guy... just looked like a Hyur. A standard, brown-haired Hyur. Could be anyone.

Edited 2018-10-08 17:50 (UTC)

Ordinarily, Ignis would disapprove of someone talking around a mouthful of food, even to compliment it. Even when it was his food. On the other hand, such genuine appreciation coming from someone that was ostensibly an enemy was to be savoured, no matter how rudely muffled the speech.

"You're welcome," he replied, in Jyllandi, and tried not to look too smug about it.

He turned his attention to the newcomer as she entered. "Good morning," he replied, in Ivalician.

Nel looked up as Apache entered and smiled at her. "Morning," she said, between mouthfuls, in that tone of a mother greeting a teenager that got back late the night before.

"Did you get back all right?" She didn't, for example, throw Szayel overboard when they were several thousand feet in the air, or, say, strap him to the Ragnarok's nose and have Yylfordt fly at maximum speed through a field of micropurvamae.

It had probably been tempting.

"Yeah," Apache said, trying not to stare at the other two.

The one with the glasses responded in Jyllandi, so either he was from there too, or he was the kind of over-achiever that had taught himself to say a small number of sentences in other languages to impress.

"Everyone else is asleep, I think," she sat herself in a chair and yawned. "And no, we didn't kill Szayel."

Tyki watched the newcomer, but was enjoying his sandwich far too much to pay too much attention. He swallowed his mouthful and smiled at Ignis, not even looking too terrifying, for once.

"You could be working in a posh place in Altissia with skills like these," he observed, cutting another piece off to eat. IT was probably rude to converse in Jyllandi in front of two Ivalician ladies, but his brain was being taken up too much by the greatness of the food to let him translate before speaking, not that he should have been.

It would probably pay better and be rather less dangerous than playing envoy for some Lucian member too smart to come to the Khamja HQ themselves.

Nel continued to eat, holding the conversation around mouthfuls. "I noticed he was with you," she said, wrinkling her nose slightly as she added, "shame you had to bring him back."

It would have been better if they'd been able to keep him away, and by extension, Grimmjow and Yylfordt, until the meeting had taken place, but they had to be careful not to be flagrantly taking the piss with this excursion either.

It was impossible to miss the conversation taking place in Jyllandi, brief as it was, but Tyki seemed happy enough with his food, so she doubted anyone was needling at each other.

"This is Tyki," she said, pointing to him, "and Ignis," she indicated with her hand. "They arrived while you were gone."

Ignis took Tyki's statement as a genuine compliment, and bowed his head graciously. "Should I ever have call to rethink my employment," he answered, in Jyllandi, "I may consider it."

He turned his attention to Apache when Nel mentioned his name, and gave her a smile. Immediately her mist mutation was obvious and for a second he had to stop himself looking for the chain around her neck. Tags, he remembered, didn't wear them on Ivalice. The information had come as a surprise; it was one of those details that no one thought to mention as a cultural difference, and it would take some getting used to. Although one could take the view that with a mutation so plain on her face, a tag was hardly necessary.

"A pleasure," he said.

Was it, she wondered?

Both of these men spoke the language well enough that they had to be visitors from the floating continent. If he was any more observant than Yylfordt, which wasn't hard, he'd notice her eyes, and he had noticed. She'd seen it. She had to resist reaching for a pendant. She curled her fingers on the table to stop herself.

"Same," she said, giving a nod. "I'm Apache."

Apache, not Emilou. It never was, but it definitely wasn't right now. She never gave her surname either, going by her middle name. That was definitely the safer course right now. Her name could attract unwanted attention.

He wasn't bad looking, all things considered. More Nel's type than her own, but he had that Athlum look that made him look half an Al Bhed. His eyes were green, too. The other guy gave her a smile, one rather more charming than Ignis managed, but the fact that just being near him made Cierva squirm sort of put her off a little. She knew the rumours of what the Noah could do, if he was one, and if that was the case, it gave Cierva an excuse to be antsy.

"So where're you two from?" She asked.

When it eventually came out that she was from the same place as them it wouldn't be a weird way to have asked the question. If they said Jylland, or Eos, as the Nifs were currently trying to push, that'd be the dumb for-the-lowerworlder answer. If they were more detailed... well, she didn't know them personally. It would be no different to Nel asking where another Lowerworlder was from.

"Niflheim," Tyki answered, taking a sip of his milk to empty his mouth before he answered. "On Eos." He clarified.

It was hard not to say Jylland, but it had been mentioned by the Earl that their continent might be undergoing a re-name. Niflheim wasn't part of the Union, after all. For that matter, neither was the Kingdom of Lucis, the only real sovereign territory up there.

He cut another slice of his sandwich, letting Ignis have the opening while he devoured his breakfast. It really was rather good.

Eos. Now there was a point that the Nifs and Lucis had in common. He gave the word a brief, approving nod.

"Lucis," he answered, into the gap afforded by Tyki as he continued. "I was just making some breakfast," he added, "would you like some?"

It would take him all of five minutes to whip up another, after all, and there were still plenty of eggs.

Nel wondered if Apache was going to tell them where she was from.

Or would she be sneaky and not let them know that she spoke Jyllandi? Having someone that could understand the language, when the other Jyllandis assumed no one could, might be kind of useful. If nothing else, she could get Apache to give her a signal if she needed to knock heads together.

"You should try some," she said, looking at Apache, with a hand covering her mouth as she spoke while finishing swallowing. "Ignis is a really good cook. We might have to kidnap him."

"Then.... yes please," Apache said, brightly. Well, who was she to turn down the offer of a lovely breakfast, especially one that came on the recommendation of the person that usually did the cooking..?

She leaned in to Nel when Ignis had turned away, and said "Just for his cooking, huh?"

Tyki pretended he hadn't heard that. Instead, he concentrated on his food, thinking it tasted rather better than the fish he had been intending to try at some point that day. He wasn't much cop at cooking, so he tended to make do. When he'd been younger, that had entailed buying or stealing food, but lately he'd been lucky enough to be waited on, because of a fluke of birth and some serious good luck.

The cooks back at the Kamelot Estate were certainly good, but this was something else. Shame he was a Lucian.

Nel glanced at Apache and then away again in the universal gesture of badly feigned innocence. Ignis was handsome, and charming, and he cooked, and cleaned, and sounded like a toff, and if it turned out that he could handle a riding crop as well as he could cook, Nel would be forced to marry him.

She finished one of her last mouthfuls and leaned in towards Apache to whisper, "I think he plays for Szayel's team."

All the best ones did. It wasn't fair.

Ignis cracked a third egg into the pan, and couldn't hear more than an indistinct murmuring from the table over the sound of sizzling.

"How do you prefer your eggs?" he asked, turning slightly to direct the question to Apache.

He was enjoying this. It wasn't often he got to make breakfast for people that appreciated it. He'd cooked every day since they'd arrived for Gladio, of course, but that wasn't really the same. Gladio was accustomed to high standards, his love of cup noodles aside.

Apache gave Nel a sympathetic look, but turned her attention to Ignis as he asked her the egg question.

"Just... fried. Yellow bit up..?" They were called Sunny Side Up on Jylland, but she wasn't entirely certain of the Ivalice translation, it hadn't really come up. She had a tendency to eat whatever she was given, so she wasn't that fussy. A fried egg was a fried egg.

"That's a shame," she whispered to Nel.

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Killers everywhere, it ain't no place to run.

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