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Tedalgrinche can admit that he hoped his ex would look like shit warmed over. For years, he's been thinking about how he'll barge back into Steph's life at the worst moment and wait for the fool to grovel. Their relationship had started in a bad place, ended in a worse place, and surely could only reignite in flames.
Stephanivien looks better than ever. Of course he does. His hair is loosely tied back and out of his face, laugh lines are starting to etch themselves on the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are the kind of light-infused blue that you could only see in a cathedral's stained glass. His clothes are- well perhaps not clean, but they are neat. A bag around his overalls is full of herbs and precious stones, all free-floating in the mess, yet Tedalgrinche can tell there's a system to it. A calico familiar is looped around Steph's broad shoulders. The cat takes one single look at Tedalgrinche, then hisses with her eyes narrowed.
"No," is all Steph says before attempting to slam the door shut.
Tedalgrinche is quick enough to block the door with his foot. He forces his smile. "You haven't even heard me out yet."
"I don't need to. I don't want you in my home. If that's all-"
"I need help."
"I already said no."
"I thought your business took walk-ins?"
"For people who can't afford it." Steph crosses his arms over his half-bare chest. "What do you want?"
Tedalgrinche knows how he must look. He hasn't been able to sleep in days. He wants to keep snapping until Steph explodes, to force a smile so poisoned that it stings, but the painful sigil on his arm flares.
He winces. He tries to play it off, rubbing his forearm with his other hand, but Steph is far more perceptive than he's given credit for.
"So you say you need help?" Steph looks him up and down. "I thought you didn't respect my craft."
"I don't. I'm here for the master of the house."
Steph had moved since he cut ties with Tedalgrinche. It took some searching to find that his ex lived here now, in one of the oldest houses in the country with the witch's childhood friend. Steph must have lived at the house for at least a season, as Tedalgrinche was certain that the ivy climbing the walls and flowerboxes hanging outside the windows had not been incorperated with the old stone manse before.
The other man's momentary lapse in aggression ends, and Steph stands up straight. "No."
"I didn't know you were his keeper. I just want to get his opinion on an issue I'm having."
"There's half a dozen mediums in the area, go take your gripes to one of them."
"None of them know as much as he does. I will speak to him alone."
Steph scowls. "Like hell you will. Go away."
"And there you go again, trying to intimidate me. Your bark means little when I know that you won't bite."
"Try me. Just fucking-"
"Steph?"
Stephanivien whips his head around to follow the voice. Tedalgrinche can see the edges of the manor's master descending the ancient stairs. The channeler moves with elegance, his voice soft and distant. "Who is it?"
"No one you need to concern yourself with, my dear," Steph responds. He turns his gaze back to Tedalgrinche. "The man was just leaving."
Tedalgrinche's lips part just a bit. Several pieces of information connect at once. The asshole before him had the audacity to move on, when he was supposed to be wallowing in regret for everything he left behind. Tedalgrinche forces his smile further.
"Ah, he must be mistaken. I am here to ask for your guidance. May I come in?"
Artoirel reaches the bottom of the staircase. A cat follows in his wake as well, a little shadow that trails the edges of his house robe. "Who are you?"
Tedalgrinche pushes past Steph and into the house. He holds out a hand to shake. "Tedalgrinche Dzemael. You are the heir to the Fortemps name, are you not?"
Artoirel glances over Tedalgrinche's shoulder, perhaps trying to meet Steph's eyes. The silent conversation is over quickly. Artoirel nods to their visitor. "I hope I am not being too presumptuous, but shall I assume you are here for something of a supernatural origin?"
"You are correct. I believe I may be possessed."
Artoirel's eyes go wide, even as Steph snorts behind him. Tedalgrinche turns the slightest bit to glare at him. "Have some class, Haillenarte."
Steph smiles, like he has been told a nice joke. "It's about time one of you did. Messing with demons is bound to mess with you eventually."
"There are protocols in place to- nevermind, I hardly need to explain myself to you." Tedalgrinche looks again to the Fortemps. "Summoning is what I do best. I bind creatures from the beyond to act out someone's will. I am not at all experienced in having something overstay its welcome, especially when they decide to stay within me."
Artoirel looks him over again, this time with a bit of concern. "…A demon?"
"I am not sure. Whatever it is has been mostly quiet since taking up residence in my being, but I can still feel it there."
"Does it have malignant intent?"
"I have no idea what it wants."
Artoirel turns around and takes a step towards the upper floor. "We will need to determine that first. Follow me."
"Love," Steph pleads. Tedalgrinche scrunches his nose up at the usage of the term. Stephanivien had never used pet names with him, certainly not something as sappy as that. It's a bad look on the man.
Artoirel pauses. The back of his robe drifts behind him, fluttering in an invisible breeze. "Mr. Dzemael?"
"Yes?"
"I understand that you have some history with Stephanivien. I will help you, but you will give my husband respect while in my house, or you will be out of luck with your possession problem."
Artoirel continues up the stairs. Stephanivien shoulders Tedalgrinche aside to follow his… his husband, apparently. Maybe he should just leave.
The brand on Tedalgrinche's arm burns again, a laughter ringing in the back of his mind. He has no choice but to follow.
An unfamiliar voice reaches him as he steps up onto the second floor. "It's about t- oh! We have a guest?"
There is another man laying out onto the couch, spread out like he owns the place. He is adorned with all sorts of jewelry and a variety of fabrics. An impish smile graces his face as the man sets up.
Tedalgrinche hasn't met this man, but the bright white shade of his eyes and pendulum chained around his neck identifies him as a Durendaire.
All of the old money families in Ishgard have had ties to magic for centuries. It is how they have been so able to maintain power over that time, either through passing down knowledge or innate ability. The Durendaires are diviners who view and twist the strings of fate with their various tools. The Haillenartes are witches, soft-hearted ritualists with ties to nature, strongest with the aid of their familiars. Tedalgrinche's own family are summoners, by-the-book casters who banish and bind all sorts of preternatural creatures to their will. Finally, there was the Fortemps family, who act as channelers for the same entities that the Dzemaels have historically erradicated.
The Fortemps' gift is the least teachable. Sensitivity to other planes is something a person either has or doesn't. Artoirel is currently the foremost practitioner, with a combination of talent, training, and supressible personality that makes him uniquely able to be influenced by the beyond. With his half-brother dead, his father retired, his youngest brother not caring to cultivate his already limited ability, and the branch families diminishing in potential, there was no greater person Tedalgrinche could turn to (even if he hadn't planned on going anyways to see how terribly Stephanivien was doing).
The Durendaire folds his legs under him and reaches out a hand, palm-down. "Who might you be?"
"A client," Artoirel responds. The diviner pouts.
"Do you have to work now? The afternoon was just getting fun. I don't want to leave."
"Perhaps it's best if you go with Stephanivien anyways. I am sure he would appreciate the company." Artoirel begins to clean various papers and baubles from the floor and low coffee table to make space for whatever he is about to do.
Stephanivien gets to his knees to help. The cat jumps from his shoulders at the sudden movement, hisses at Tedalgrinche again, then scampers off to the Durendaire's lap.
"I'm not leaving you alone with him," Steph whispers as he grabs a couple of cat toys in one hand.
Artoirel waves him off. "He's not the forces he summons."
"No, he's far more petty."
"If what he says is true, it would be far crueler to turn him away."
The Durendaire leans forwards with his elbows on his knees, not helping with the tidying, but wanting to partake in the conversation. The pet in his lap bats at the pendulum that dangles over it. "What exactly is it you are doing?"
"Mr. Dzemael appears to think he is dealing with something possessing him. I intend to find out why."
"Do you know what you're dealing with?"
"Ah…" Artoirel looks up. "I do not. I hate to ask you to work when you planned for a casual evening, but-"
"You don't need to ask. I'm invested now, I simply must know what is going on here."
"Great. If you would do your thing, I will begin my preperations. Excuse me."
With that, Artoirel pivots to a side room, his little shadow of a cat following close behind. The Durendaire pats the cushion besides him.
Tedalgrinche tries his best to conceal his displeasure at being handed off to some starry-eyed astrologian. "I'll stand, thank you."
The man shrugs. Stephanivien takes the proffered space instead to silently glare at Tedalgrinche from a place where he can be seen.
"Tell me everything," says the Durendaire. "Every detail you can remember."
"I can't imagine there's much either of you can tell me that I don't already know. It's not a demon, it's not a force of nature, so there's little that can be done by myself, a green thumb, and a card reader. I wouldn't have bothered coming here if there was anyone else I could go to."
Steph primes himself to say something right back, but the man next to him holds out a bejeweled hand to stop him. "Try me, Dzemael. It doesn't hurt to at least get your story straight before Artoirel returns."
"Fine." Tedalgrinche takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I was following every protocol-"
"What were you summoning?"
"Not whatever is harming me."
"Did the summoning work?"
Tedalgrinche grits his teeth. "No. In the middle of the ritual, the entity disrupted my focus, and the spell failed."
The Durendaire nods, taking it all in. "Is there a chance something else distracted you right before you were possessed?"
"Certainly not. I keep my chambers clean and don't let beasts run free when I am dealing with demons."
The calico narrows its eyes. Tedalgrinche mirrors the expression right back.
"Steph, darling, can you fetch me my bag from downstairs?"
Tedalgrinche turns his head to hide the disgust the smallest bit. Stephanivien truly shared his affections much wider after leaving him behind.
Stephanivien seems reluctant, but he leaves the room. The second his footsteps reach the landing below, the Durendaire's face turns sharply serious.
"What are your intentions here?"
"What?"
"Are you being honest? Are you truly worried about something? Or are you making something up to get into Steph's head again?"
Tedalgrinche blinks. "I… how dare you imply-"
"Artoirel might not know who you are, Tedalgrinche Dzemael, but I do. Just as he will not permit disrespect against Steph, I will not permit you to get in his head."
"I think you may have me at a disadvantage. Who exactly are you?"
"Jannequinard, nephew of my house's current leader. Although I don't need Durendaire blood to know that you're posturing. You can either leave now, or you can start telling us what we need to know to help you."
Tedalgrinche tilts his head. He certainly hadn't expected such a confrontation from a man dressed so… loosely.
"I do believe that I am being possessed."
"Very well. We will continue. Ah-" Jannequinard holds his hand out to the recently returned Steph. "Thank you darling. Now then, Tedalgrinche, I have a few more questions."
"Fine."
"Have you seen your apparition?"
"No. I've only heard it."
"Was it speaking to you?"
"…Yes."
Jannequinard waits for an explaination that doesn't come. He rolls his wrist. "Aaaaand? What did it say?"
"You don't need to know that."
Steph rolls his eyes. "I really have things I'd rather been doing if you're just going to prattle on."
"He isn't lying," Jannequinard says. Tedalgrinche certainly wasn't expecting that. Steph clearly wasn't either, because he scoffs at the statement.
"How do you know that?"
"He has a Mars Zenith Line. There's very little reason for him to be so indirect while beating around the bush for such little gain."
The sentence means nothing to Tedalgrinche. It must mean nothing to Steph as well, because he lets it slide with a roll of his eyes.
"I am well aware how hallucinations work. I am fairly certain," Tedalgrinche says, rolling up his sleeve, "that simply hallucinations wouldn't cause this."
All eyes are drawn to the mark winding from Tedalgrinche's arm. He noticed it for the first time when he awoke on the floor after the failed summoning. It is reminiscent of a tattoo, a black and white spiked strand spiraling from wrist to elbow. It burns when the others look at it, the skin ever so slightly rippling at the edges like it is actually constricting.
There's a moment of silence. Then Stephanivien throws his hands in the air. "Why didn't you start with that?"
At that moment, the door to the side room reopens. The black cat patters out and miaus at them all to enter, moments before her owner issues the same command. The three men funnel unto the darkened ritual chamber.
Artoirel settles on the ground. "Mr. Dzemael, if I could have you sit there. We will start in a moment."
Jannequinard perches himself on a table along the wall. "What exactly is it you are doing?"
"I," Artoirel says, lighting a candle. "I plan to channel the spirit giving our guest such trouble."
"What?" Stephanivien steps further into the room after closing the door.
"We need to find out what it wants before Mr. Dzemael can begin to handle it. Janne, did you gather anything?"
"It's either a calm poltergeist or an irritated wraith. I'll be able to see more when it is spread between the two of you."
"Hold on," Steph says. "Are you saying that you want to channel this asshole's malignant spirit?"
"Exactly. Do you need to step outside while this happens?"
Steph glances at his friend. "Am I alone in finding this insane?"
"Seems to make sense to me. I can hold Ricotta if you want eyes in here and your body without."
"No, I-" Stephanivien takes a sit, defeated, beside the anchor point of the circle. "I can call it off if things go wrong."
"Make sure you are certain before you do so. We must be certain the spirit is resealed within Tedalgrinche before the channel is interrupted."
"Could we… simply not put it back?"
"Bad idea." Artoirel clicks his tongue. "Without a vessel or a binding, a loose spirit is far less predictable. There is not telling what it can do to you if it can manifest."
Tedalgrinche settles on the ground an arm's length from Fortemps. He winces as he has to sit on top of the chalk. "Let's get this over with. I'd like to get something like an answer before your- before Steph decides to remove me from your home."
"Right."
There's a moment when the air shifts. It quickly goes stale. Dust and smoke hangs in the air for far longer than they should, like time has slowed. When Artoirel's eyes open again, they are glazed over with a glowing silver sheen. Jannequinard does something in the corner that makes his irises shimmer.
Artoirel's voice carries a measure of power when he speaks again. "Spirit from beyond, heed my call. We wish to talk. I offer up this vessel to allow you to communicate with your quarry." The channeler holds out his hand, palm-up. "It could help if we make contact. Once the connection is established, you should be free to pull away so far as you stay in the circle."
Tedalgrinche stretches the branded arm. He is still not used to seeing the marks there, and he cannot wait for them to be gone.
There's a frission of energy, a spark that touches down between Tedalgrinche's fingertips and the channeler's palm. Artoirel's head falls, his neck abruptly losing the strength to hold it up. Tedalgrinche watches Steph in his peripheral vision. The Haillenarte's jaw twitches. He can't bear to look at this, the soft-hearted failure.
Artoirel's body contracts in on itself voilently. Then, his head raises a bit. An escalating giggle comes out, one that chills Tedalgrinche to the core.
There's a flash in his mind, one that burns to even process. The laughter escalates to a fever pitch. Tedalgrinche reflexively pulls away to cover his ears. "Why are you-" he swallows, trying to think through the overwhelm. "Why are you doing this?"
"The bill has come due," the thing says through Artoirel's mouth. "Your tricks could only last so long, Sylvetere. Now, I shall take what I have earned, regardless of the tricks you throw at me. You and your whole empire will burn."
Artoirel's hand reaches for the candle besides him. The thing isn't able to move it even possessed with a corporeal body, but it is able to stick fingers that don't belong to him directly into the flame. All of the wicks flare bright, the sickening laughter making it all the worse.
Stephanivien springs into action. Leaf detritus is gathered into his palm and crunched tight. A gust of wind sweeps through the room, blowing out all the ritual candles. There's a moment where the only light is the glow of Artoirel's eyes, which is quickly snuffed out as well. There's a heavy thud as something falls to the ground.
"Artoirel!"
There's a hurried skittering, then the room is illuminated, the cord for having been yanked by Steph's cat. In the swinging light, Tedalgrinche can see Stephanivien opposite of him, holding the limp form of his husband in his arms. One of Steph's thumbs digs into Artoirel's palm, keeping the blackened fingertips splayed and away from his body.
"What- what was that? I thought spirits weren't able to harm their vessels.
Jannequinard stands. "Most can't. That doesn't look good."
Tedalgrinche barks a laugh. "I could've told you that. This entity has just about killed me."
"I'm not talking about that."
"His-" Steph swallows. "His hands-"
"Not that either, my dear."
"Then what? What do you see?"
"What you aren't looking for."
Tedalgrinche reevaluates the scene before him. There's the circle, interrupted when Steph tipped over the anchor candle. Tedalgrinche's own fingertips are unscathed, the expanse bare from soot and leaves and powder.
"Not you." Jannequinard points to Artoirel, just north of where Steph was touching him. There, above the wrist, is the beginnings of a branding. "I've never seen a possession spread like that."