#// I needed to get an idea of what zephia was going to tell griss in their other post-boel interaction before writing this one

[twistedisciple]

Few could mistake the appearance of a Hound or ignore the corner he claimed. Where others carried themselves wary and on edge, a certain Fell Dragon seemed all too pleased with this new arrival. Though it would be remiss to call Griss a perfectly kindred spirit, both were given a wide berth by the tent's inhabitants, and that berth grew wider still as the dragon approached him. 

“So you have finally made your way here, Griss. You did well to last as long as you have, though I admit it is somewhat of a shame.” He looked at him steadily, a face entirely wiped of enmity, only rapt attention. Amicable? Threatening? That was for Griss to judge. “Had you spelled allegiance to a different house, I would have enjoyed the chance to defeat you myself.” 

Rafal smirked, cocky and assured. Pointedly omitting the early circumstance of his own defeat. That failed to be the crux of the next matter and, after expressing his unique greetings, a spell of quietude wormed itself between them owed predominantly to himself deep in thought. A longer moment than anticipated.

“. . .On the way here, I was approached by a foul woman.” 

An understatement, an offender of discretion lacking clear identity markers at that. Even as he did it, he did not know why he tested Griss, or realize that he watched his reaction with every syllable. The other's name had surfaced, as had his part played in the intelligence thrown around of Rafal that few others could know. But still it was not tantamount to hurt; still it was not betrayal. Even if he would not ever lay claim to the term, the Fell Dragon possessed no right to brandish it between them.

Betrayal, after all, was a crime only between friends. Not a lord and a knight from two different worlds playing at patchwork fealty.

“A Mage Dragon by all appearances, she spoke of both you and I with special awareness,” he finished evenly, pivoting on his heel. Both dragon and topic to dissolve on an air of enigma. “I only thought you should know.” 

“There you are, L—“ Griss clamped his mouth shut, teeth snapping down on his tongue (unintentional and not sharp enough to draw blood, but a pleasure-punishment for speaking out of turn anyway), although his lips still formed their smile. Like Zephia, Lord Rafal had come with his own agenda, his own questions, and his own evaluation of his performance, so the Hound swung his legs over the edge of the cot and offered his full attention like the very beast that gave him his name. For now, he detected nothing in the dragon’s face that suggested he’d come for anything but the follow-up for a job - and one that Griss had done exactly as it’d been given to him: make it to the next round. No more, no less.

As Lord Rafal spoke, Griss’ attentive eyes remained fixed on his face even as the rest of him swayed a little side to side to satisfy his need for constant motion. Some mute unconscious thing could read the lines and shadows there, but it was quiet, easily drowned by an epiphany the dragon gave him instead. He stopped abruptly, eyelids flaring.

“What?” It had never occurred to him that he could have picked a different house. “You coulda said that earlier!” He clasped the thin edge of the cot and leaned forward eagerly. With the sliver of uncertain tension broken, the two of them now smiling in their own ways, they almost looked like everyone else in the medical tent. Friends seeking out the company of friends, sharing the tales of their conquests and defeats between spells of laughter.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna make me wait ‘til next year… What do I gotta do to feel your axe arm?”

He knew, even as he went on with his theatrics, groaning and sighing and complaining about his missed opportunity, that he’d picked the Black Eagles because of Zephia. And he’d promised he’d never leave her side, no matter what. Maybe if he was a different person, he would have thought he might have a chance to convince her to support a different one next year. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t. It was no source of regret, no source of resentment; it was simply what it was.

Even when Griss had little reason to bring her into the conversation, she appeared anyway - conjured by Lord Rafal, instead. Mention of a ‘foul woman’ had settled him back down, and he cocked his head to the side with real and obvious confusion, even though his intuition had grasped the connection between Zephia’s meeting with him earlier and this one, and stuck him like a pin. Then Lord Rafal identified her as a mage dragon and all but drove it home. Griss stiffened with the realization, just slightly, because he’d seen Lady Veyle’s face in this fair-haired child of Lord Sombron, and he didn’t like it.

“Wonder what she did to ruffle you,” Griss muttered, still staring up at him, glazed eyes unblinking, still wearing his half-formed smile. “And why’re you telling me? You want me to do something about it?”

[yourladystar]

Star's Engage Catalogue Day 24 (part 1)

OK, I'm done with my break and I finally have time to play, and I have a lot of catching up to do. But I think I can still do it before the DLC comes out! Let me check the date-

"April 6"

Yeaaaah... As you can tell things got really away from me. And with how much sh*t I have to do this month, I'll be lucky if I even have time to play this game, let alone beat it to get to the xenologue before the month is over. But I'll still try my best, especially since I don't have to rush as hard anymore.

But before I do that, I'm gonna start this day a bit differently. Since I wanna speak more about what happened the last time I played, something I wanted to talk about but was too tired to get to and has been consuming my thoughts for the last week. This is going to be talking about that last scene from chapter 20 and how it relates to Alear, so if you don't want spoilers, just skip this one. If you're cool then

Spoilers for chapter 20 (the last one)

Now I don't think I need to say that the ending scene after Griss reveals who Alear is was amazing. Everything from the voice acting, the writing, the music, and the emotions was on point. But what made me really love this scene and this chapter was something else.

I've noticed that an underlining theme some of the characters have is not allowing your past actions or problems to stop you from living your own life. Alfred dealing with his childhood illness coming back and pushing through to get stronger, the Elusian sisters turning against their kingdom and allying with their enemy to better themselves and give their people a better future, Yunaka leaving her past as an assassin behind and trying to do better while dealing with the consequences of that, Seadall becoming a well-renowned dancer despite being a homeless orphan as a child, Pandreo and Pannette salvaging a good life for themselves in their own way despite having sh*t parents; there are likely more examples I can give once I go through more supports. And the big example of this is Alear learning he's the Fell Dragons child but persevering in being the Divine Dragon.

Let me give an idea of just how intense learning this would feel. Imagine in your head learning in your adult years that your adopted and the people you've been calling your parents are strangers who picked you up on the side of the road. Got that idea in your head? Now imagine learning that your real parents are effectively Satan.

The fact that Alear didn't break down into complete despair and hopeless nihilism upon learning this is genuinely shocking. And even then, he was still left in shock and considered leaving the cause altogether. What point is there for him to stand as their beacon of hope if he's a false prophet? How can he accept his role if he's not even the person everyone believed he was?

It's what made Sigurd and the royals reassuring him so heartwarming because it reinforces the theme of the game; what matters is who you are now. Even if Alear isn't a true Divine Dragon in blood, he is one in heart. He's kind, caring, loving, and supportive despite his fell dragon lineage and that's no different now that he knows about it. And the people who love and care about him aren't going to turn their backs on him just because he's not a true Divine Dragon, because that love and trust in him was built on who he is as a person, not because of his title. And I feel like during the end stretch, Alear is going to come to truly accept his role and who he is meant to be, not just because he has Lumera's power in him, but because it's what he chooses to be.

And considering that the remaining Hounds know about this and that Zephia has already used the helmet on Veyle, I am f*cking terrified about what's gonna happen to my dragon children.

I just want them to have happiness!

[twistedisciple]

If you were to ask Marni what the other Hounds liked, she wouldn't be able to give more than a surface level answer. Zephia liked Lord Sombron. Griss liked getting hurt. Mauvier liked Veyle. Marni liked getting praise. Anything further than that wasn't information they needed to know about each other to do their jobs. When other people found out what their little family was like, they'd make that uncomfortable smile, as if they were something to be pitied.

They just didn't get it.

As far as Marni's concerned, not knowing that much about each other's personal lives is way better than getting saddled with too much knowledge. Likes, dislikes, personal preferences... what does she need to know any of that for? It hadn't mattered even the tiniest bit back when she had actually tried that and it didn't matter now.

This does, unfortunately, pose a problem when Griss' birthday rolls around and she has no idea what to get him. It'd be weird for her to get him something, right? No, it'd definitely weirder if she didn't. Putting aside the whole... everything, she should probably at least get him something. Because she'd feel bad if no one gave him anything, that's all.

Yeah, that's it. He's a real grade A weirdo, so he probably won't get anything. Ah, poor guy! On his one and only birthday this year, no less! He's lucky that his pal Marni is magnanimous enough to get him something if no one else will.

But this still doesn't solve the issue of what exactly that something should be. After enough punching her pillow and groaning to get herself forcibly ousted from the shared dorm room in Abyss, she takes to the marketplace. Maybe something there will jump out at her.

It just so happens that she does eventually find something in the end.

"Here, this is for you!" She shouts when she finally tracks down Griss, throwing at full force tossing a small box wrapped in a pink ribbon at him. "For your birthday! It's a magic ring. I dunno how it works, but apparently when you put it on, it sends little spikes into your skin that dig deeper if you try to pull it off without hitting the little button that releases it. Cool, right? I bet no one else would give you something as cool as this! I looked all over for this, so feel free to tell me about how good I am at picking out gifts!"

And she does indeed look mighty proud of herself for someone who had agonized so much over just what to get him. Even so, she digs at the ground with the toe of her boot a little sheepishly.

"I-if it's no good, I guess I could maybe break your hand or something...?" An insane proposition for literally anyone else, but regardless, Marni seems to regain heart after she says it aloud. "Yeah, we'll call it a special birthday service! 'Cause I'm super generous like that."

...Since when?

Birthday asks (Happy 29th)

He’d completely forgotten about the tentative alliance he’d made with Marni back on the archipelago. That’s what Griss thinks first when he sees the girl thundering down the street toward him. He should have praised her for — well, anything, probably — but that had always been Zephia’s job, so it didn’t even cross his mind again after they’d left the tea party. Maybe he’d tell her now. The sharp point of a box slams into his chest, barely caught between his hands, and turns whatever he was going to say (which was nothing really worth saying, even to someone who lived off superficial compliments like Marni did) into rasping laughter.

”What? You actually remembered?” he taunts, smudging a little spot of blood with his thumb and giving the box a shake. And maybe the surprise would have lasted a little longer, and been a little more genuine, had Marni not made her motivations so clear so fast. Praise. Of course that was what she wanted. Griss sneers, because he’d always thought his leash was the better one.

”What are you gonna do if I hate it?” he asks, shaking the box at her toyingly. “Bad gifts ruin birthdays, you know.”

It was an odd dance between the two of them, like dogs picking up the loose ends of each other’s leashes. Marni would inflict pain for praise, and Griss only ever gave out praise when he was in pain. It worked, in some very twisted, messed up way. This was what Zephia had done.

Wrapping flutters from the box in pieces, followed by the lid Griss drops haphazardly to the ground. On a small cushion sits a dangerous-looking band of metal, encircled along the inside by small spikes, which he takes out to try on immediately. Tossing the rest of the box to the ground, he uses both hands to wedge one of his silver rings off over his knuckle, then slips on the new one. It goes on far easier than it comes off, catching a layer of skin as he gives it a couple of tests. The look on his face says it’s perfect. Exquisite, even.

But saying so would be too easy. Instead, he steps over the discarded gift wrapping to hook his arm around Marni’s neck, still grinning, barely even trying to pretend to look like he’s disappointed.

”Well, well, looks like this ring ain’t as good as you thought.” He holds his hand out in front of her and flares his fingers to show it off. A thin line of blood has already started trickling down from it. “Better get that special birthday service ready, ‘cause that’s the only way you’re gonna make up for it! Hehehe, let's see your axe.”

-

They would, fortunately or unfortunately, not get to the hand-breaking part, thanks to a meddling knight.

[twistedisciple]

Bringing a Knife to a Bunfight [Griss & Zelkov]

@elusivia

If Griss thought him pure, he was wrong. There had been times when Zelkov had wanted to drive a knife into another's flesh. He was no saint. He had become something different the first time he'd experienced sincere wrath, the sort of pleasure that came from twisting a knife with vengeful, fleeting, elation. He recalled those moments, taken in revenge or sometimes flaring up in war, with potent shame, as a creature who could never have looked his family in the eyes again had they still been living. A reminder that no matter how many hobbies he took up or wounds he healed, his history would forever remain one of tragedy. To rub salt in a never closed wound, he could never bring himself to regret it either. To think that someone could crave such a shameful act performed upon them was absurd, yet Griss had shown since the first *incident* that the tattoos, piercings, and everything else marred in pursuit of pain was not for show. All this time later, and Zelkov still didn't know what to do with Griss practically dancing a jig while trying to get his name on the list of people Zelkov should stab (again). He could, and that was what haunted him, he could give Griss all he desired, and perhaps some past version of him would have taken to the chance to with rage against the world, as if either of their appetites could be ultimately satisfied from it. He was suddenly deeply grateful they hadn't met before he'd avenged who he'd needed to. Zelkov held Griss's gaze, unbothered by the threat against his own self, but admittedly disappointed at Griss's own faithful loyalty, the likely correct confidence that Zelkov wasn't a match for a being such as Zephia. If Zelkov provoked them, if any of it went back to who he was supposed to represent... "Perhaps Zephia does not *need* your protection." He hesitated. "As for my liege, I *cannot* take action that would be loyal to myself before her. I *cede* my threat to your master. "But I'll tell you *this.*" Zelkov drew himself up and then turned his head, arms folded, posture closed off. "If you make any *attempt* to harm Queen Ivy, I shall make your death as *swift* and *painless* as my expertise knows how." He said it with all the gravity of a threat, as though there were not ghosts in the world who would have begged for such a promise from him. "And if you don't care to tell me what Zephia's *orders* are...." He shifted his cloak so it covered the hilt of his dagger, shaking his head. "How *disappointing* for you, I'm sure." This was not the way interrogation was supposed to go, but...

Griss thought that they might finally get somewhere. That someone might finally give him what he wanted. He was asking nicely and even being civil about it, because he could easily bust a bottle of champagne and start stabbing the partygoers himself just to get someone upset enough to justify getting his blood on their hands. Zelkov took his sweet time talking around a decision, but eventually pinched out the little flame of hope and Griss filled with a sort of itchy, smoky frustration over being led on. His expression deadened.

That champagne bottle idea sounded pretty good. There had to be bright red blood inside of Zelkov to contrast everything else about him that called to mind shadows and ghosts. Probably even brighter than most because of it, and what a nice shade that would be for the walls that no one had had the time to decorate yet. Griss' fingers twitched. Fire was an option too, but that wasn't as personal, and charcoal didn't have the same kind of visual appeal. Plus, there were already so many different smells in the reception hall that the perfume of melting skin and hair was probably a bit excessive.

But Zephia.

She hadn't given him orders yet, contrary to what Zelkov seemed to believe, but these were her students and colleagues now. And he supposed his, too. There was a time and place for drawing blood, and Griss had just enough sense to recognize that these fantasies wouldn't end well for either of them. He snarled and turned his head away, then conceded the fight with a step back.

"Relax," he said through his teeth. "No harm's comin' to your precious queen." Not yet, and probably not ever as long as the both of them stayed out of the way, but Griss wasn't about to make promises out of thin air. He glanced toward the now-hidden dagger, then back up to Zelkov's face with a tempestuous frown.

"That all you came over here to say?" he rebuked. "Got me all excited for nothing."