crimsonretainer

[crimsonretainer]

THE KNIFE AT HIS THROAT IS A RATHER NICE TOUCH, one he can't help but admire despite the circumstances of it all. He can't blame the slightly older woman for being suspicious, for the hatred in her eyes at the abnormally coloured spell in his hand. It's a secret he rarely divulges, that no matter the incantation all spells from his hands are a poisonous purple, the rest of a past he doesn't care to think of any more. "The others aren't running around after their open wounds were coated in ash and mud, you are."

The squeezing on his wrist would've hurt if the hand were not already numb from exertion, yet he considers her question all the same. Once, many moons prior he'd discussed with Edelgard the need to divulge their existence with others, yet still, the retainer had not expected it to be for the one that viewed him with such utter distaste in the moment.

A tossed gaze left and right before he's shifting towards a door, careful not to cut himself or pull away from her grasp. "In here, quickly, unless you want your friends to be at risk." She has no reason to trust him, yet his often shady visage is falling just enough to convey the sincerity of his words. Adrestia's seedy underbelly was no secret to the world, and yet to divulge their existence would paint a bigger target than escaping already had.

"Think carefully, Yunaka, to our investigation of the assassination attempt on Count Varley..." It feels like months ago now in the wake of the past three days and yet it was merely less than a few weeks. "A matter so urgent all of the Black Eagles were drawn to the Southern Church, yet upon our return, a route that should have been a secret had an ambush lying in wait?"

A breath, conscious of the knife at his throat. "There is an... organisation, one devoted to seeing the Church crumble to ruins, that selfsame organisation was also behind the insurrection of the Seven and... Terrible experiments that produced all manner of abominations." He can only pray that Edelgard forgives him in the future for the information he's divulging, yet if it means their lives are spared it is all that matters to him.

"They were likely the ones behind the ambush, likely the very same that currently have our friends. Are you really sure you can fight them with wounds like that?" He will not divulge their push for war, not when it seems they have already declared war on the three states of Fodlán with their assault.

"I will not ask for your trust, but at the very least let me tend to your wounds before they try to find us again."

HE SPOTS HER FROM THE CORNER OF HIS EYE, the limp he's associated with barely healed wounds as clear as day, as he moves to catch up with the much shorter woman darting around the room. He doubts the adrenaline has worn off for her yet, yet it'd be remiss of him to allow the wounds to go untreated for much longer. The Marquis apparent thinks of all the times they've interacted, the seriousness that hides beneath her overtly friendly visage that reminds him of a past he wished not to think on.

No doubt, if anyone would be right to suspect him it'd be her, eyes that seem far too adept at seeing beneath masks. Still, it fails to stop him from reaching out with an almost harsh "Yunaka, stop." He'd be almost amused if it weren't for the seriousness of the atmosphere, to order around the once professor with ease as he tries to lay a healing touch on the much more athletic woman.

So focused on the task, Hubert fails to realise they're in a deserted corridor, hand aglow with healing light as he tries to channel the faith into her body. "Your wounds are serious you know, so just, stop, moving." Words through clenched teeth as he tries to land a touch on the woman without triggering her fight or flight.

"They can wait, for now, please just sit still before you reopen the wounds."

Like hell she was gunna listen.

Yunaka keeps walking. She's fine. There's others to check on and make sure they're alright before she worries about herself. Out of everyone here, she's one of the lowest priorities to get healed up. Once the important people are good then...it's nothing she hasn't walked off before.

She had hoped by her continuing to walk away down an empty hall, he would get the hint. Instead, the sound of footsteps continue to echo down her way. Behind her, there's a flare of magic. Behind her, there's a hand reaching for the back of her neck.

Larimar freezes.

Yunaka whirls around and grabs his wrist in one hand, forcing it away from her. In the other, up comes her knife, sharp edge towards his throat. "Don't touch me." She snarls. Her body is sore, her nerves are frayed, she doesn't want to be dealing with any of this.

There's enough space between the knife and his throat that the threat is a courtesy at best. She's got no intention of spilling blood just yet, but that doesn't mean he can just waltz up and do what he wants either.

"I don't need it." She doesn't want it either. Not from him. Not when she still doesn't know whose blood Edelgard might be putting on his hands. "My wounds can wait until the others are taken care of, now go-"

Yunaka pauses. She frowns at him, head tilting as she considers his words.

They can wait. Why did he say it like that?

"Who is they?" Her eyes narrow. She doesn't have the patience right now for any more games. She squeezes his wrist tightly. "Who did you mean by that?"

[crimsonretainer]

HE REMEMBERS THE LAST TIMES HE FELT THE FURY SIMMERING IN HIS VEINS, this makes the third time in his short life to feel the anger he does now at the fiends lurking in the shadows. Once, it had been on the road to Adrestia, fleeing from his father's hounds as a young man, the next when her majesty had returned with hair bleached white and a fire in her heart, and now, all directed at the same source. So long has he yearned to hunt them from hole to hole until nowhere was safe for them to hide any longer.

His success at protecting her this time is merely a temporary boon to his already foul mood, yet he listens all the same, positioning himself to protect her from any would be assailants. They, after all, had the ability to disguise themselves as anyone, so he would remain cautious until the end. He dares not to speak his concerns, no doubt she's already noticed so many of their numbers missing from the bunker. "His majesty is resilient, no doubt those loyal to you are already circling to ensure they cannot reach him."

He knows the sign of nerves in her movements, moving closer yet never touching, guarding her from watching eyes so that she may speak freely. "Edelgard..." They're not in private, and yet he doubts that it means little to drop the title, hand reaching with healing glow for the wounds he knows linger beneath cloth. "What you decide, we shall follow gladly."

Oh, he knows the look in her eyes far too well, the one that stared him in the face, there's a level of guilt there for the way they seem to have come out better than some of their peers, some he's managed to check on, others like Yunaka have managed to elude his untender healing touch. "As you command, Milady, I'm sure our agents in the nearby provinces will be more than eager to recreate our net." There are words unspoken, a promise to root out the traitors in the southern church, a promise to open the road to Enbarr should plans go awry, he was, after all, her obedient servant.

A HURRIED MOVEMENT THROUGH THE BUNKER, passing by the myriad students of different allegiances with a single point of concern. The golems were too familiar, and the weapon that screamed overhead too horrifying to be anything but suspicions in his mind. He can see her in the students' uniform still, brow furrowed in concern at the white marred with red.

"My Lady..." A tone of concern, hand reaching aglow in purple light as it trails the wounds mirrored on his own body. He hopes the glow is enough for people to not have looked as closely to them as he leans in. "It would seem THEY have decided to move without us, and the status of Enbarr is... uncertain." The words are treasonous to His Majesty, and yet it was him who had charged him with this task all those years ago.

"I implore you, Milady, Ascend to the throne before they can." A plea of hubris, of one who has overstepped his position as he continues to heal the last of the wounds the golem had inflicted. "To attack us and the monastery so brazenly... it is little more than a declaration of war on Adrestia by the fools lurking in the shadows." Words that have made his task clear, if those unseen forces wished so badly for War, then they would be forced to meet them head on, casting aside all pretense in declaration of an unwillingness to be their pawns any longer.

How she has longed to stamp them out— To rid them of any agency they deign to have and flush away their presence from the continent entirely. To eradicate the monastery is a bold move; perhaps strengthened only by the fact that herself and her fellow Black Eagles were not at the building itself upon their attack. She seethes internally, quelling it only as her retainer's words reach her ears.

"How despicable," she says with a sigh. Edelgard's right hand gravitates towards her chin as her gloved fingers tap. Once, twice, three times. If she leaves now, that will only make Yunaka truly believe that she is involved. The last thing she desires is to be lumped with them. It is painful enough to have them infiltrate her life more than she cares to say. "My father is there. As are many others.. The throne as well, which you speak." Edelgard breaks the eye contact she has established with Hubert, lowering her hand to tug on her crimson cape. "I intend on it— On becoming Emperor, that is. Even so.. I hesitate to do so right now."

When she looks around the space, there are so many faces she has come to consider friends. She can't abandon them; not when they lurk and she has the means of assisting. "I trust your judgment, yet.. I made a promise. I said I would aid my allies at the monastery so long as they stood by my side. I can't abandon them here."

Their war torn faces; their injuries and frowns plastered on their faces. She is hardened to it by now, but their words stick with her all the same. "Use other means to get eyes and soldiers on Enbarr for now. We may well be able to use this play to our benefit, if we act carefully."

[crimsonretainer]

PERHAPS THIS IS WHAT PREACHERS MEAN WHEN THEY SPEAK OF FAITH, an unshakeable bond that does the world of good to the slightest quiver in his hand. Ferdinand has understood his burden, a secret shared in detail before of where he experience with magic came from, and yet he's never been judged for the harshness in his gaze since. For so many today will have been their first experience with the horrors they wrought, so he can forgive the signs of magic exhaustion making themselves visible.

"See to it that the situation never does..." There's no hatred in the words, so calmly do they dance between the line of order and heartfelt plea, as magic is slowly snaking amongst the closing wounds. It's been an age since he's had to rely this heavily on meagre faith, leaving the retainer uncertain of its effectiveness at the current moment of time. "Adrestia without the great Ferdinand Von Aegir? Better off..." It's a testament to the adrenalin in his system that he's cracking jokes even as the hand is covering his, warmth contrasting the unending cold.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead." A sentence between truth and lie, even as his shoulders shag, leaning closer to whisper the words he'd hoped never to speak. "So many are missing, and with those beasts out there, we're cut off. This... may be our last stand..."

until we're gray and old { ferdinand & hubert

※Epiphany 2025 | Intermission

[crimsonretainer]

Mareeta knew not to judge a book by it's cover. Good people can come from anywhere, and bad people can pop up out of the most stalwart.

Still... when she hears a dark mage is in their group, Mareeta can't help herself but to be on guard.

"Oi."

Mareeta pulls him off to the side, looking down at him, grey eyes glistening.

"You're not slick. I know you probably aren't affiliated with them, but it doesn't take an idiot to realize that a black robed dark mage among our group is questionable."

She moves forward, not... quite, pinning him to the wall, but definitely cutting off windows of escape.

"So I'm taking it into my own hands. Got some questions for ya. And you will answer them. Am I made clear?"

IT TAKES A LOT not to pull the dagger from his sleeve, the adrenaline that had coursed through his body in the heat of battle not yet cleared. He can't blame anyone for being suspicious of his mage garb any more, not when its appearance is not unlike the masked mages on the mountain pass, yet he'd been trapped in the ambush like the rest of them, the bruise on his ribs was more than enough evidence of that.

"And yet your suspicions are enough to get you killed when you drag someone fresh out of combat into a darkened corridor." His voice, levelled with ice, is telling of how little patience he has remaining for anyone willing to attempt to trap him when so many of the Black Eagles are still missing. "You forget something Mareeta, the Officer's Academy has fallen, I am no longer a student, and you are no longer a Professor..."

How odd, the temperature seems to have dropped as he's forcing his way forward without a care for whatever role the person before him once held. "So allow me to make myself clear, any suspicions you may hold are fine, but if those suspicions would put His Majesty's subjects at risk? I'll remove you from the equation myself."

Hubert has never mourned for innocence lost, not when there was little innocent to hold in the dark corners of the continent.

[crimsonretainer]

NO AMOUNT OF SCRUBBING IS CLEARING THE ASH FROM HIS SKIN, the wild retreat from Garreg Mach has taken more and more from an already fragile peace of mind. His gloves and most of the supplies he'd haphazardly stored as a worst case scenario, lying somewhere in the mud of the Oghma Mountains amidst scores of beasts. He's taken a headcount best he can, a hurried search for the acquaintances as Teachers, Students and Knights alike nurse their wounds.

Panic hasn't set in yet, but he can feel the creeping terror at the edges of his awareness, the book and its letter is a taunt to them, when so many of their fellows are missing in the wake of that abominable weapon descending. Still, he can't give into that dark feeling in his gut, not yet, there are endless contacts spread across the continent to reach out to, to task with searching for the missing Black Eagles while the divisions between nations fall.

The suspicion is back in force now, a narrow gaze at the water reflecting his face as pieces are rationalised again and again. He'd warned Dorothea of his suspicions before they set out, mused aloud to Edelgard that Count Varley's attention was clearly elsewhere, and yet none of the pieces had clicked until it was all too late. Had his approaching Dimitri sent him into an ambush on return? Every question has him spiralling more and more in the depths of an anguish and hatred he thought he'd long suppressed.

His father is just as likely a suspect, the fool more than willing to sell out his kin if it meant power consolidated. Perhaps the slips of his masked persona had given him away of late, encouraged his father to align himself with them again. A reasonable explanation for so many crestbearers finding themselves besieged at once, still, he can't allow himself to lose focus now, grateful for the closed door as he reaches into the pouch he'd clung to for dear life.

Once, there had been fanciful war plans drawn up, outfits bought to match the occasion, and yet he doubted Lady Edelgard would care for his outspoken declaration of intent as the student's uniform is replaced slowly and carefully with the outfit decreeing him as Marquis Vestra. Turning from the basin filled with the last dregs of water mixed with blood and ash, this was not the war of freedom they'd envisaged, yet Hubert would treat it all the same when it came to these arrogent fools that saw fit to declare war on Adrestia.

Perhaps it's the reforged focus and the fire in his eyes as the tome is slipped into his cloak, but anyone waiting to use the meagre washroom goes unnoticed by him as he exits, aware of only the slightest brush of shoulders as he goes in search of a map.

IN THE STORMS WAKE

Interlude - in the bunker, TOA-Epiphany2025

[crimsonretainer]

[ HARD ]:    preparing to deliver what they both know will be bad news, the sender tries to prepare the receiver by quietly greeting them in a solemn tone. // what if this was timeskip au :flushed: 

"hey, hubie." her voice is soft as she takes a seat beside him. there's a reluctance in her every gesture — hands fold in her lap, fingers twitching, instinctively reaching for rings she no longer wears. dorothea pauses, an empty ache in her chest at the thought. that habit, those old motions, all a reminder of simpler days. ones when there was more certainty, more hope. she forces her hands together instead, fingers locked, and stares at them, trying to ground herself in the silence.

maybe he already knows. no, he must know. it’s hubert, after all. the emperor’s right hand, edie’s ever-watchful confidant, the one who knows everything long before anyone else does. the man who’s always seen through her — who’s never let her wear any pretense.

dorothea swallows hard, and tries again. "i’m sure you’ve heard by now, but…" she falters, breath catching in her throat. how do you speak when the very air is thick with the weight of it all? "our losses... were worse than we thought. we did everything we could for those who made it out, but..." she bites her lip, trying to steady herself, but the trembling doesn’t stop. she wonders — does the same dread pool in his stomach, too? "i don’t think they’ll make it through the night." the words are barely audible, hanging between them like a death sentence. she finally forces herself to look at him then. "and... and i’m not sure if any of us will. we’ve lost too many already. one more ambush...and we might not have enough to fight back. we might not survive the next one, hubie. i don’t know how much longer we can keep this up."

"I'M SORRY" Hah, merely words to be spoken that could never make up for the hells that had been unleashed onto the continent. Eyes that trail to bare hands, his gloves lost on the mountain pass years ago. Even now, he's still unsure of the locations of the Black Eagles that hadn't been there when they'd fallen prey to an ambush unrivalled by anything else.

He's spent years tracking down every lead, hours spent pouring over reports in an attempt to figure out who'd betrayed them. Yet at night his dreams are plagued by the screams unending, from seeing the unconscious bodies of his classmates, his friends lying in the dirt as Golems bore down atop of them. He lies, of course, and says the bags under his eyes are from the latest midnight oil report, but he knows that Dorothea has seen through him, seen the same horrors he had that day.

He can't even bring himself to look in a mirror of late, stubble growing rampant in the wake of endless sleepless nights spent hoping for news of the still missing students. Still, he has to be resilient, unyielding to tides as his arm reaches up to tug her close. "We'll remember them regardless..." It's all he can say, really, words inadequate for the thoughts running through his mind and the shame he feels at his failure to keep the Black Eagles safe from their schemes. "I'll... make sure their families are looked after..."

The shudder is back in his hand, something he's tried to suppress when others are looking to him for strength, and yet Thea was right, wasn't she? Even their temporary encampment is falling to ruins around them, fleeing through field and farmland in an attempt to get back to Enbarr's unscalable walls. "We'll make it through this 'Thea, I promise."

And yet that twisted seed of self-doubt is laughing at him, mocking him for giving them all false hope.

@encantresse

[crimsonretainer]

HE'S ABOUT SO SPEAK as golden light trails overhead, akin to an arrow in shape, as it's radiance leaves him chilled to the core. Few can go unaware of the myths surrounding Ailell, of the Goddess' wrath summoning a great pillar of light to turn it into the barren wasteland it now is. Yet that distraction is all that the mechanical golems need to encroach on their crumbling position. He has no time to warn the rest, the remains of the garrison of Adrestian Soldiers moving to shield them from the brunt of the damage.

Enemy unit 14 attacks Player Unit 2 with Advantage Enemy unit 14 rolls [4d10+7] Roll: [10, 7, 4, 3] Result: 31 Player unit 2 rolls [4d10+8] Roll: [9, 5, 4, 3] Result: 29 Difference: 2 All units lose 1HP (Unit 2 2.5/4HP, Unit 14 3/4HP)

A cough from his lungs as the cloud of dust that the enormous lance lifts into the air with each swing, yet, he raises his hand to unleash a weaker burst of miasma in tandem with the rest of the strike force beside him. He's all too aware that the defensive line is crumbling, yet the ominous clap of thunder and rushing wind as his eyes widening, turning quickly to the harried soldiers and barking the only order that can come to mind as magic rushes over them. "We cannot allow the road to Enbarr to fall, form ranks!"

Hubert stalls and thinks, thinks of Dimitri and Matteus who he knows went on ahead of the Black Eagles, he's not sentimental, and yet he hopes they escaped before the weapon arrived. A shake, gaze turning to the magic tingling at his senses, watching the golem that slowly reared back to swing before grabbing the closest person to him, pulling them down as dust and debris rained down.

Enemy unit 7 attacks Player Unit 2 with Advantage Enemy Unit 7 rolls [4d10+7] Roll: [7,10,7,4] Result:35 Player Unit 2 rolls [4d10+8] Roll: [10, 8, 8, 4] Result: 38 Difference: 3 All units lose 1HP (Unit 2 1.5/4HP, Unit 7 1.5/4HP)

He doesn't need to shout it, a volley of arrows flying overhead to rock against already crumbling armor, still, his magic for healing is spent, leaving the hint of fear for what lay ahead as he pulls the person beside him back to their feet.

"We can't..." A hacking cough, dust covering his features like snow, "We can't... let them through to Enbarr."

@amitieos, @hresvelged & @cutestrival

black eagles strike force!

fall of garreg mach, unit 2

[crimsonretainer]

IT TAKES HIM LONGER THAN HE'D ADMIT TO AWAKEN, the smell of smoke reaching his nose as the carriage creeks around him. None of his spies had warned him of an impending ambush, a matter he'd clearly need to look into as gloved hands reach beneath the wooden plank for the tome. Even years of training for the eventuality can do little to calm his nerves, throwing a gaze to the students hurrying to and from. There was no time to mourn and check on the endless cavalry strung around the battlefield, not when he had matters to attend to.

No, he cannot afford to lose anyone, not when plans had finally set themselves in motion. It's a shift in his persona, that steel gaze shining through as he nods to the Professor riding with them. "No time for fomalities, no doubt they'll attempt to circle around the nobles in the wagons behind us." How could he have been so foolish, of course it was all a diversion, attack the monastery while the bulk were away was so obvious. It's an anger in his veins, magic humming alert, as if itching to take down whoever dared to move.

"I can heal as necessary, watch for the treeline!" He's slipping back to the rear, tome open in hand as his mind rationalises whatever ambush awaited them. They shouldn't have split from the rest, he knew this, and yet he hadn't even thought to say it, no, despite what his fellows may say, there were no expendable lives for their plan. Perhaps it's his anger at himself that recognises the waiting ambush as they approach the carriages he knew Ferdinand, Bernadetta and Yunaka to be travelling in, a roar to get down as the arrows skim overhead, catching and leaving flesh wounds.

Enemy Unit 2 attacks Player Unit 2Enemy Unit 2 roll: [4d10+6] Roll: [7, 3, 2, 1] Result: 19 Player Unit 2 roll: [4d10+8] Roll: [9, 6, 3, 2] Result: 28 Difference: 9 Player Unit 2 loses 0.5 HP and Enemy Unit 2 loses 1.5 hp Player Unit 2 3.5/4 hp Enemy Unit 2 0.5/4hp

Its rage incarnate as his gaze turns to the masked figure, feeling his fellows turn to the treeline as magic, raw and power, begins to coalesce on the wind. "BEGONE!" The fury in his voice cannot be denied as the counter leaves his control, arching until their adversary is illuminated against ashen leaves.

"Deal with them!, We can disconcern their plans afterwards!"

@amitieos, @hresvelged & @cutestrival

black eagles strike force!

fall of garreg mach, unit 2

[crimsonretainer]

December Activity check

Completed Threads:

None

Skill Points gained:

1 (Monthly)

Stats Changed:

Reason: D+ -> C

Pending Claims:

Dark Mage Banshee

[crimsonretainer]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪ dorothea slides into the seat opposite him, silent for a spell as she simply watches—no, stares. it’s clear she’s making a show of it, leaning in to catch his eye, her expression unflinching. ( she wonders if it’s common for others to try and intimidate someone like hubert. ) his gaze is held for a few more seconds, before a grin betrays her. "did i scare you?" a giggle follows. "did i make you nervous, hubie?" the moment is fleeting. the songstress lets herself relax into her chair, her posture now languid and casual as she gestures vaguely toward their surroundings. "i’ve gotta say, i’m relieved you’ve made yourself so easy to find today. it’s saved me precious time."

her attention drifts downward, but quickly snaps back to him as she pulls something from her lap: a carved chessboard, not wrapped like the other gifts she's prepared this evening. ( in case he wishes to inspect it first. ) and with it, an accompanying journal — pocket-sized and weathered.

"i made a fascinating discovery this holiday season. apparently there’s… hm. how do i put this?" gently, dorothea places both items onto the table, then lifts a finger to tap against her chin in feigned intrigue. "a colorful market for enchanted chessboards. no idea what for, but i figured you might find it interesting. so, i got you one." she gives a small nod toward the journal. "and that's full of spells for moving the pieces. something about 'bringing strategy to life?' you’d know better than i would when it comes to these things."

pleased with herself, the songstress leans forward again, her elbows resting on the table. "you’ll have to humor me with a game sometime. i can’t promise i’ll be a worthy adversary, but i’ll give it my all. deal?"

STUDENTS HAVE BEGUN TO LEAVE THE MONASTERY IN BATCHES, Garreg Mach relied on the support of the regional churches, and those churches relied on the nobles for funding, funding which had become conditional on noble children returning home for the holidays. In part, it made the cafeteria much more bearable for the man slowly slipping at an almost endless cup of coffee.

No one has approached him for the day, which made it almost bearable to stay solitary for the one period a year in which he allowed himself to truly relax. Of course, he's been productive as well, stocking the storeroom with supplies for those that wouldn't be leaving while ensuring any stray parcels made their way to their owners. Yes, Hubert is more than content with his little peaceful corner, letting his gaze roam until the umber haired woman is filling it out completely.

Of course, he knows far better to complain or attempt to slink away, lest a rather unfortunate occurrence be brought to light in front of their fellows. Instead, he leans back with an almost invisible smile, allowing the staring contest to continue in silence before a giggle is breaking it up. "Or perhaps you're simply getting better at finding me." A shockingly teasing tone as the cup is placed onto hard wood, leaning forward as the chessboard is lifted from her lap.

It hums, not dangerously, rather akin to devices enchanted for the simplicity of moving the pieces through magic alone. Yet... it speaks to how well Dorothea has come to know him for the gift to be so meaningful. Even that worn journal hums like a battery to his senses, a sirensong to the mage that it's spells almost wished to be modified, and so, Hubert takes a moment to collect himself, to listen to her offer of a match before an almost playful smirk is appearing on his features. "Oh? Is that a challenge 'Thea? Deal."

His hand slips to an envelope, a letter he'd yet to deliver that he's slowly moving across the table. "An invitation you might suppose, there is a rather exclusive dressmaker in Enbarr, one who specialises in fabrics of the more... resistant nature." As thoughtful a gift the magus could give, one that showed the level of thought and scheming that went into his mind. "Rumors have it that this particular dressmaker is quite adept at outfits for mages." An extremely subtle smile, turning his eyes back to hers.

"Happy Holidays, Dorothea."

[crimsonretainer]

🎄

if they were awake enough to realize it, they would consider it another misfortune that they had chosen a mistletoe to nap under. as it is, they're already grumbling under their breath as hubert approaches, his heels on the floor responsible for the sound that rouses them, rising to their feet and trying to draw on their most wide-awake expression so as to avoid whatever unwanted opinion hubert sees fit to regale them with.

HUBERT ISN'T ANNOYED, not when the mistletoe had only been placed there after Lin had managed to find somewhere relatively peaceful to nap. In fact, he hadn't intended to wake the Crest Scholar at all, merely planning to quietly move the mistletoe before they awoke from what looked like a rather peaceful sleep. With the fast approaching holidays, even the monastery seemed to care little for work, students and faculty alike beginning to wind down for the remainder of the year.

No, Hubert doesn't mind at all that his fellow is stretching out from a long nap, instead reaching to pluck the mistletoe from its resting place in one fell sweep. Still, he's aware of the enchantments ticking down like a timed spell, rolling on the ball of his foot to place a kiss to the magus' forehead before it can unleash whatever nasty trickery it held.

"Next time, it may be easier to sleep in the dorms than somewhere you can be so easily pranked." A hum as the retainer walks away, satisfied at managing to one-up the scholar who'd swapped rooms with Caspar to avoid the constant bickering between the retainer and Ferdinand.

[crimsonretainer]

"I have never known them to enter towns since their appearance." A lie in part, he remembers an instance years ago where the wolf like creatures had managed to scale Enbarr's walls and yet that is not his knowledge to impart, not when it had been the result of terrible tragedy. No, instead his eyes are forced to return to the window as howls begin to echo, distant yet no less daunting as flames in the street begin to flicker from the cold creeping down.

The ache in his arms is back tenfold, a hiss escaping clenched teeth as the gloves are once more tugged around his wrists, hands protected from the cold that bites. "Hmph, it seems they're more agitated tonight." A breath is all it takes to extinguish the flame, the once occupied hand reaching to the pack by his feet to undo the ties holding it shut. The retainer doubted the beasts would be interested in him, and yet it was almost better that he go to confront them rather than the myriad students with minor crests sleeping soundly.

For once, he can bring himself to meet the eyes of the Margrave, levelling a polite stare as cloak and tome are pulled from the worn leather. Edelgard had struck a rapport with him if Hubert remembered correctly, yet it did not mean the ever loyal servant would be able to, instead wordlessly moving to pull the cloak around his shoulders as the tome is secured by his waist.

"It would seem, Margrave Gautier, that our only course of action is to rout their advance, unless of course we wish to test the wives' tale about the beasts turning crestbearers is true." The look in his eyes could almost be considered sinister were it not for the lack of venom in his voice. Quiet steps towards the door, ever careful to ensure the other occupants of the room remained sound asleep.

"Let the hunted become the midnight hunt."

SNOWS THAT FALL WITHOUT REASON

[Reason+1] w/ @cielenruine

[crimsonretainer]

🎄

Caspar has seen the hair ruffles that Hubert's been dishing out to the shorter members of the monastery-- and he's not having any of it. At the sight of mistletoe overhead, his hand shoots out to reach for his classmate's palm.

White gloves are halfway through their journey to Caspar's lips when he takes an abrupt pause.

"There's no, like, poison residue or something on here that's gonna kill me the second my mouth touches it, right?"

CASPAR HAS BEEN A WELCOMED FRIEND in his time in Garreg Mach, a buffer between him and Ferdinand on the days when their nature makes it hard not to resist the urge to let their verbal sparring fly wide to the detriment of whomever is caught in the crossfire of their raging will. Perhaps that's why the normally touch adverse man is content to trust the shorter when a hand is being brought to his lips.

It's an extreme faux gasp at the baseless accusation he would ever stain his white gloves with any sort of poison, but not for the reason anyone but the Black Eagles would expect. It's a hint of humor in the way he says it, the look between merriment and seriousness that gives nothing away.

"Oh no, those are the black gloves, I'm somewhat sure they were left with whoever swapped me to decaf." A smirk, oh so telling as he flips the pose and brings Caspar's knuckles to his lips. "Happy Holidays Caspar~"

[crimsonretainer]

@encantresse cont. From here

THE THOUGHTS ECHOING IN HIS HEAD are utterly confusing for someone that who tries his hardest to suppress any semblance of emotion to distract him from his tasks. Yet... it's not entirely unpleasant if he were to admit it to himself, Dorothea's presence is... warm, he's heard her described as a beacon in the dark before and yet it's only in the moment that he can understand why students so eagerly flock to her like moths to a flame.

The fleeting look of betrayal in her eyes before the gaze is drawn upwards is more potent than any knife will claim to be. Fuelling the dark ire that his magic feeds upon and promising an almost stern visit to the opera in search of whomever has made it almost familiar to her. He's thinking almost irrationally, and yet Hubert grips to reign in the dark magic curling in his fingers.

He can't put the mask back up before she's talking, offering only the barest hint of a smile to the woman he's trusted with more and more secrets of late. "Perhaps... unless you intend for Bernadetta to faint on the spot." The tone is teasing in a way that's uncommon outside the coffee mornings where he knows no one is liable to wander in, except here, and now they're standing in the middle of a classroom without any way to disguise the conversation.

He's become more observant now, to the way her eyes have a light to them, he's clearly ignored in the past, the way that mischievous smile seems all the more fitting that the fake smiles he's seen her wear in front of boys he's always considered to be rude for approaching and disturbing so suddenly. "Enticing isn't it?" The smirk on his features is natural looking, relaxed as he willingly lets the mask hang from his features rather than allow the walls to shoot back up. "Careful now, wouldn't want people to think the mistletoe has somehow managed to swap our personalities..."

The hand lightly holding her cheek is dropping away as they step apart, and yet, it seems for the first time he's looking at her rather than through her, something has changed fundamentally, and it's become scary in a way with how fast the currents of his thought shift, like someone has begun to dam a torrential river within him. "Never happened is for the best, yes." At least until he can figure out this puzzling change. That lean is dangerous, but only for the reason it shows a side to the songstress he has clearly failed to account for. "Hmm... You do realise, Dorothea, that to bring up the fact I was blushing is to incriminate yourself as the cause." A completely playful barb, a side of him that etiquette lessons have failed to smother completely.

Ah, that wink, it sends his thoughts spiralling once more, and unlike the last time it seems he too has been dragged away with the current as he reaches upwards to pull the enchanted mistletoe down. The sleeves pulled back reveal the trademark of magically overexertion as he burns away the enchantment he'd tried to subtly nullify before she reached him, calling out just loud enough to hear.

"Tomorrow at Eight, of course, 'Thea..."

[crimsonretainer]

HUBERT, DESPITE APPEARANCES, understands the value of having opinions other than his own when it came to investigating whoever had decided to jump the arrow with an attempt on the life of the Count. He hadn't heard whispers of this particular job from the myriad sellers of black market information that filtered through the Monastery, an almost clear sign that whoever had organised this had not done so through the usual shady channels that crossed the continent, how utterly interesting.

HE doesn't smile at the way the Professor flinches, not when the motive of the would be assassin eludes him. Is it a ploy, perhaps? An attempt to lure his attention away from the monastery and the silent vigilance he held for the large number of Crest bearers that resides within its walls has been playing in his nightmares of late, when he's waking to a knife clutched in his hands and paths stalked along at midnight without care for whoever may reprimand him for the growing bags.

There's a slip in her expression after the flinch, like the flicker of a persona setting back into place after a short rest that occurs almost in the blink of an eye, were it not for training himself, perhaps he might've missed the seriousness that flickers into a mask of humour, a grin that looks just a touch too large to be natural. Lady Edelgard considers her a confident, perhaps it's only natural he doesn't remark on the expression before the count, following the shorter woman from the room without comment.

Hubert would be lying if he said he didn't find her parting remark to the count funny, yet his steely visage remains until they're out of sight of the count and his guards. The breath from his lips is sighlike, a loud exhalation as the doors slam behind them. "How intriguing..." a moment to collect his thoughts, eyes trailing the hatched roofs with interest in hopes of finding any trace of their would-be assailant.

The disrespect in dropping the honorifics can be rectified later, for now he hopes to deal with mysteries at their feet instead. "Does it strike you as odd, Yunaka, that none of his servants saw this supposed assailant on the grounds?" A question posed, the mask of the humble student slipping from him to reveal the analytical mind he used it to hide from sight. "Almost as if the attacker had help... or worse, was meant to serve as a distraction."

A murder (mystery) so foul

Varley assassination plot w/ @dcggersedge

[crimsonretainer]

🎄 "so much for being the holiday miser you pretend to be, hubie."

she had been watching him for a while, glancing up from the pages of her book every so often with the faintest trace of amusement. as the last of their classmates filter out of the room, dorothea rises to her feet and makes her way to his side, glancing at the decorations strung up and the ones still sitting in their boxes. "if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you were enjoying yourself."

"look... no! could it be...?!" she suddenly lets out a dramatic gasp, rising on her tiptoes to grab his face with both hands. the songstress turns it gently from one side to the other, inspecting it with exaggerated care.

then, with a small laugh: "my goodness. is that a smile i see? i don’t suppose i’ll be sworn to secrecy for witnessing such a thing, will i?"

HE'S BECOME AWARE TO THE WAY DOROTHEA OBSERVES, working in silence as the Professor continues to teach the class a year below them. As two of the most senior mages amongst the Black Eagles, they'd been requested to attend to ensure any mishaps didn't cause issues amongst those first beginning their magic lessons. Of course, it gave him time to hang up the decorations he'd purchased in secret, a hint of cheer to the room in the best of ways, yet he refused to walk beneath one particular spot, aware of the humming of a binding enchantment that offered only doom.

Of Course, that merely meant that the moment everyone has filtered out, Dorothea is bounding across the room before he has a chance to warn her. "Dorothea wa--." Too late, her hands are on his face and pulling him into the circle before he has a chance to warn her with an affectionately weary sigh. "For a smile? I doubt even Bernadetta would believe you if you said you saw it." Still, it's there even as his gaze is trailing upwards to the mistletoe above him. He knows the circle is designed to be broken with a kiss, and yet the nervousness in his bones is refusing to dissipate.

Dorothea is an undoubtedly beautiful woman, a fact even a fool would be hard to deny, and he was no fool. No, a fool would not feel the hint of a blush on the back of his neck and the lullaby of embarrassment in his bones for what he's about to do, yet it remained ever necessary lest he want to stalk back to the dorms covered in myriad paints. "Forgive me for lack of decorum, Lady Dorothea."

He can only hope no one is around to witness just how much he skewed the rules of polite society, closing the distance between their lips without a moment's notice, a brief, respectful kiss that the man can only hope she doesn't slap him for afterwards.

[crimsonretainer]

🎄

While running errands around the monastery, it was easy for Sakura to run up against someone else doing their duties, especially during this period of the year: every rooms was sloely becoming decorated, every hallway was becoming more radiant and shiny, each person in the monstery suddenly become healthier and happier -obviously it was a mere thought, but Sakura truly believed in it.

But as she happened to encounter this person right under the mistletoe of festivity, she felt a starnge pression all above her shoulders, almsot dropping all the boxes she was holding in her arms.

"I-I'm sorry for interrupting you" she fretted, bowing her head in sign of excuse, trying to ignore the mistletoe.

HUBERT HAS SEEN SAKURA RUNNING to and fro with the boxes the entire time, he's been subtlety picking up and weaving the lights between the branches of one of the myriad pine trees secretly bought with the funds funnelled from the Vestra estate. Hubert, observant as he is, has noticed the number of younger students either without families or unable to travel home, so he's taken it upon himself in a way to bring the holidays to them, uncaring for his perception in the eyes of others as long as they were able to enjoy it.

It's when he's caught in his thoughts that he's absent-mindedly stepping back into her path and nearly knocking the boxes from her hands before an arm is darting out to steady her. Despite this, his awareness of the mistletoe he knows is above his head has slipped from his mind, until its enchantments are making themselves known once again. "Please forgive the hubris, Lady Sakura."

Gloved digits are carefully lifting the boxes from her hands, setting them down and lifting her hand to his lips in a single movement. Hubert's head is bowed in respect as he places a single chaste kiss against the back of her hands. "Happy Holidays."