( voice ) delivery

[haillenarte]

Name: Francel
Date: June 5
Format: Voice

Might I — ngh — might I trouble someone for help?

[there's a soft crackle of what might be breath on the mic, and then the shifting of what sounds like bedsheets. the voice that ultimately speaks again is low and husky, fairly deep, but there's something boyish and hesitant to it. some of francel's words come out awkward and tense, as if he is in a great deal of pain, and struggling to get the words out.]

It's been... several bells since last I took a meal, by my count, and... I'm terribly hungry. The... the man with whom I share a residence is not like to be back for some time. Could I trouble someone to bring food to my doorstep?

[really, even he can't believe he's asking for this.]

I have little coin, but I would happily pay you for your time. Please, and blessings on you.

Comments

voice;

[clickclickbang]

[Francel?]

Dude, are you okay?

[Wait.]

Other than the obvious. Are you sick or something?

[haillenarte]

Oh... it's you.

[he recognizes the voice immediately! the name, however, takes a moment. the boy with the chocobo, the one who'd shared food with him — he said his name was...]

Prompto. Have you been well?

[francel definitely doesn't sound well.]

I'm... fine. I merely... well, yes, I suppose I have fallen ill.

[clickclickbang]

Eh, mostly. Gettin' kind of furry but it's no big. You, on the other hand...

[haillenarte]

[the young lord laughs a little nervously.]

I'd trade the scales for fur, if only I could. Fur sounds... pleasant.

[clickclickbang]

Oh, shit. You're turning into something else, too.

[Sounds of him moving around.]

I can bring you food, no problem. What're you in the mood for?

[cyclopticsadist]

[Well sounds like somebody is suffering, and Niles had just made himself a meal. He could spare some leftovers. He'd been eating straight out of the pan as he normally does, but he takes a moment to get the foods into some travel suitable containers. When the video reply goes through it doesn't show a person, rather it pans over some rye bread, a thick reddish stew of some kind, diced and grilled potatoes, and some slices of sausage. A voice comes from behind the field of view.]

This look to your liking? Where exactly are you?

[haillenarte]

[that looks... incredible, honestly. it's not quite the cuisine that is served in his birth city of ishgard, but it looks like good traditional coerthan cooking, and francel feels a pang of saliva hit him at the back of his mouth.

he still responds with voice, though he certainly doesn't mind the visual. mmmm, stew.]

I? I am in my residence...

[it occurs to him, though, that maybe he shouldn't so readily invite strangers over without at least ascertaining who they are.]

You don't mind taking it over here? Surely you meant to eat that yourself?

[cyclopticsadist]

[Ah, so he has at least a little caution.]

I already ate my share. Food is overwhelmingly plentiful here, I made more than I needed.

But feel free to go hungry if you see fit.

[haillenarte]

No... No, that's not what I — [a sharp sigh breathes static over the mic again.

he reminds himself that he is no longer a lord. not that his request for help was anything like arrogance — it was a humble plea for assistance, nothing more — but he reminds himself that not all people are kind, and indeed, few people in this world have any reason to be especially kind to him, or to offer help. he recomposes himself.]

My apologies. I did not mean to question you. I would gladly accept whatever you may be generous enough to offer.

text

[veilfires]

Aymeric is away?
I can gather in a box supplies enough to last a man a week. If that is suitable, I will deliver it before the onset of dusk.

text

[haillenarte]

[solas! a relief.]

I expect he will return in the evening, or late this evening, if that is what you mean. But that makes some hours yet.

I would appreciate that greatly. I am sorry for the trouble.

text.. to action!

[veilfires]

I see.
It is no trouble. I am happy to help a friend.

[There’s a space of about two hours. He manages better than before dusk - his next message comes in the mid-late afternoon.]

I will be there soon.

[He sends that with enough time that there’s a grace period where Francel can call things off, on the off-chance that a change in his condition has come about that would make a face-to-face visit taxing rather than an assistance.

Without such a rejection - ten minutes later there comes a knock-knocking at Francel’s door.]

action ahoy!

[haillenarte]

[in truth, francel dragged his aching bones out of bed long ago in preparation for solas’s arrival; he has been sitting pitifully in the entry hall, and he reacts as quickly as he can to the knock at the door. upon turning the knob and finding solas at his doorstep, francel immediately decides that he’s never been quite so glad to see such a bald head. he smiles gratefully with tired eyes.]

Solas. Again, thank you for coming.

[he should at least be polite, he reminds himself — he steps aside to let solas in.]

Would you like a moment’s respite from the heat?

[this is in itself an odd question — it’s not particularly hot today.]

text

[civicbooty]

[ Whenever it is that other people respond, Aymeric is by far the last of them, well after sundown. ]

apologies; i've been in the outer city. i'll not be much longer. are you all right?

text

[haillenarte]

i’ve been fed and watered

[like an animal is implied.]

[civicbooty]

[ Aymeric's response comes a little delayed — he's laboriously picking out letters one by one with his index finger.

He ignores the joke, if it can be called a joke. ]

is there much pain?

[haillenarte]

[by contrast, francel's messages come much swifter. perhaps it's that his job involved more writing, or else that some ancestral haillenarte knack for technology has finally been of use to him at last: somehow, despite being a young lordling from the fringes of coerthas, he texts with the speed of a bratty teen who's been on a smartphone for most of his life.]

it's nothing i can't handle.
i won't be able to make dinner, though.

how was the outer city?

Voice

[newtralize]

Several bells- [Newt obviously sounds concerned by that.] I can come by right now. I- Where are you? I don't know if my cooking will be palatable to your tastes, but I've cooked for myself for awhile now, so I can assure you I can offer you something at least passable and filling.

I don't need money though. I'm more concerned for your well-being than anything else.

voice;

[haillenarte]

[the voice is familiar, as is the accent. francel still doesn't know how to check display names on the network, but he recognizes the voice after a moment.]

Newt...?

[right, it's newt, isn't it? again, the man is more kind than francel expected him to be. first the dream-forest, and now this?]

Why, that... that's very kind of you. Are you sure you don't need compensation? I — [hold, please, while he starts coughing like he's dying.]

[newtralize]

Yes, it's Newt.

[His voice is steady and a bit on the quieter side.]

I have no need for compensation. I do plenty enough to get by and I'm much more concerned for you to care about any sort of compensation. You sound dreadfully unwell and I most certainly think that you feeling better is compensation enough.

[haillenarte]

[the coughing fit is actually just because he choked on a bit of saliva rather than any symptom of his mosnter transformation, but, well, newt doesn't have to know about that. there's a bit of a croak to francel's voice when he responds again, but he sounds grateful enough.]

I — [wheeze] — you're very kind. I... I will accept your offer, with the caveat that I do owe you a favor, if ever you should have need to call upon it.

[he'll give directions: his home is in the ordinary housing district, close to the wall.]

I think we've enough in the pantry to make a decent meal. I just don't trust myself to handle a pan at present.

[wordsinthesoul]

[…francel…]

Have you anything in particular you would like?

[haillenarte]

...Thancred?

[that's a voice he didn't expect to hear, though he supposes he might do the same if someone else from eorzea were publicly asking for help. francel responds a little sluggishly as his mind struggles to catch up with his mouth.]

I... I had not thought on it. Truthfully, I'm in no position to be picky. And we are of the same star. Anything you would recognize as food will likely do just fine.

[wordsinthesoul]

Yes.

[He's concerned- especially after this.]

All right. I'll do my best to be quick. [Something heavy…? Ah, but if he's asking- maybe something lighter? He'll get to work.] Where might I find you?

[haillenarte]

[with ease, francel gives directions to his home in the ordinary housing district, close to the wall, with a yet-unfinished garden they've been trying to sort out, on-and-off.]

And... take your time. A little longer won't kill me.

[...he laughs, but it sounds a bit sarcastic...]