#//sorry that this was way longer than it should've been hkjhkhj

[concealedbybreeze]

princessmacedon​:

Much as Maria admires their photo and its many endearing quirks, when Lewyn asks for her to hand it over, she happily does so, watching with bright-eyed curiosity as the bard marks her copy of their picture with his initials. The letters L.S. sprawl across her inelegant thumb with a breezy grace, and in the throes of admiration, she thinks nothing of trading her card away for the prize of her picture back.

“But it’s already worth a fortune!” She laughs, and laughs again for the cheesiness in all its dowdy delight. “Because my friend gave it to me! Right? Hee hee, here – can I sign your copy, too, Mister Lewyn?” 

The artificer surrenders their pen a second time as Maria leans over the table, the letters MvM gently looped within the corner of the picture, legible but understated. Though they are prince and princess, her signature does not hold the same weight. History won’t remember her like it will remember her siblings, if it deigns to remember her at all. The king-killer and killing king who led Macedon astray, and the crimson queen who set things right – their tale ends in the verse of another’s epic, and in the shadow of the Hero-King, there is no room for the glimmer of light that is one little cleric, her tower, and her dreams.  But that’s alright; Maria is happy with that. So long as Lewyn remembers the red-headed girl with the silly grin, it will always be worth something. 

“Here!” The photograph finds its way back into his hands with a triumphant flourish, her own soon to be filled with her signet ring held out for him to see. “Can I give you my stamp, too?” 

“Sure can,” is Lewyn’s response to both Maria’s questions. The girl clearly knows how a two-way street works, and who is he to deny her stamp or signature? The appropriate items are handed off to the redhead to be marked with her initials. It’s a simple process, really, but the way Maria puts so much wanderlust into everything she does calls upon Lewyn to slow down and enjoy the moment. When life gets hard and wild, these are the moments they’ll look back upon. 

The photo is retrieved first, which earns a light chuckle from the bard, “Your signature’s real neat, Maria. I’ll be sure to remember it, so don’t go changin’ it before my hairs turn gray.” Gods know that with everything stressing him out recently, it won’t be long before that happens. Lewyn’s card, stamped by Maria, comes next. If she paid any attention during the process, Maria would know that hers is the last stamp Lewyn would receive. There’s probably some small honor in that, but whether she gets excited over it is entirely up to her. 

“And thanks for the stamp, lass. But it’s best if I don’t keep you too long, eh? Go enjoy the rest of the ball for now, and if you ever see me skulkin’ around the academy again, feel free to say hi.”

[ 1180 Glasses ] - Oversized glasses with unique frames formed in the shape of the year “1180”.

"Alright Maria, how 'bout these? They seem quite fun, don't they?" Lewyn holds the spectacles up to his face, setting them on the bridge of his nose and adjusting until they fit right. He turns to little Maria, giving her a smile and short wave.

"How do I look? Handsome as ever, right?" He laughs at his own joke, for the glasses looked rather absurd on him. One eye could be seen nicely through the 0's hole, but the other was obstructed by his hair. If the photo could get a giggle out of her though, it'd be worth it.

Her new-acquaintance-hopeful-friend Lewyn is possessed of an astute eye, Maria finds, for she's absolutely certain he's somehow picked the most exciting glasses straight out of the prop box. No matter how well she knows what they were going for, in the end, the design is simply... so funny! Oddly jagged and horribly impractical, while at the same time utilizing bold, brash colors to be as exuberant as it possibly can. It's wonderful, she loves it, and she giggles with cheer enough to lay any doubts to rest.

Happily, she returns his wave, but whether it's misfortune that very nearly leads her to misspeak, or fortune that stops it on the tip of her tongue, who is she to say? Eleven out of eighty, she almost says, but for a blessing, her mind catches up with the unintentional insult ere she says it. Instead, holding her palms out in front of her, the little cleric crosses her arms as if to flip the numbers, because that is a very important step that she does not want to forget.

"Mmhm! Eighty out of eleven!" A delighted deliverance of her verdict, punctuated by a thumbs up thrown in his direction -- snap! Ah, fate, ever a fair or fickle mistress... Perhaps both on this occasion, it seems, for though it is most certainly Maria's blurry thumb that occupies the bottom left corner of the photo, it only obscures the bard's sleeve. The rest of it is thankfully intact, from the single encircled eye to the rather green lens, and Maria... Maria...

"Hee hee... heeheehee! Mister Lewyn, I think this one's my favorite!"