#Balia speaks

[b-raypokemontime]

"Balia~" Celia called, slapping her open-palmed hand on her door over and over. "I can't see it, so you have to describe it to me, but Esaias looks hilarious!" The round green ball in her arms struggled fruitlessly. For an eight year old child, Celia was strangely strong, and he couldn't get a good angle to peck or bite her.

"Okay Okay I'm coming Celia! You can stop pounding on the door!" Balia was trotting over to the door from the kitchen. She was wearing a fall themed apron today that she'd managed to sew herself for once! And it didn't come out Horrible! Yay! When she opened the door she saw Celia standing there Holding.... well.... Bird Esaias the Natu.

"Oh no... Not again. Come on inside. Celia, I'll show you what he looks like in the usual way... ah.... you're.... you're not your usual self either Celia..." Balia held the door open all the way and put a hand out to guide Celia inside. Once that was done and the door was closed she'd be trying to get Bird Esaias out of her clutches.

[capoteera]

https://www.tumblr.com/simplykorra/764791803782348800/alba-baptista-speaking-with-j%C3%BAlia-palha-for?source=share not clear enough. I have bunch of name in mind for the watch . Where is her outfit page in time of need ? Girl post something 😂

Anon for watch, if you message her style page on instagram they might be able to help

[forebodingprophet]

Manners and Decorum

               “When?”

               Anastasios looked up from the paperwork on his desk and eyed the intruder warily before heaving a sigh. 

               “‘When’ what?”

               The intruder, resembling a teenager even younger than himself, stormed over and slammed his hands on the desk.

               “You said the portrait lady comes to visit sometimes.  I want to know when.”  Anastasios had to shield his documents from the rain of angry spittle the teen produced. 

               “I don’t know,” Anastasios replied.  “Why do you care so much?”

               “I just do!  Why’s it matter to you?” 

               The teen was actually a rather ancient Zoroark.  If someone told Anastasios that he was the same age as Lady Aria, he’d believe it, but that didn’t even begin to answer the question of why he wanted to meet her so badly.

               “Look, considering the first time we met you tried to turn me into a pile of fleshy chunks, not to mention the fact that even after a year here you can’t be bothered to learn the most basic of civilities like knocking or saying ‘hello’ before demanding things from the young master of the mansion, indicates to me that you are not fit to meet her.  Regardless of my own personal opinion on the matter, other members of the house would throw a fit if I let someone so uncouth anywhere near Her Holiness again.  Frankly speaking, you standing here trying to intimidate me into acquiescing and summoning her for a visit is far less intimidating than the idea of having to deal with the entirety of my family breathing down my neck again.”  The Zoroark balked, his hands clenching into fists as he began to pace angrily back and forth.  He stopped his pacing after a moment, turning as if to bark at Anastasios again, but then returned to pacing.  Anastasios returned the majority of his attention back to the document pile in front of him.  “Look, I get that you have some circumstances.  You aren’t required to tell us about those circumstances so long as you don’t bear your fangs at any members of my family.  But you cannot simply expect the future leader of the house to bend to your every whim just because we worked together.  Especially when the request you’re making is being made not only without decorum, but is also a request to meet one of the most powerful individuals in the world.  Understand, I have to keep her safety in mind.”  Even though the last thing Balia needed was Anastasios looking after her safety.  That seemed to make the fox relent though.  Now, rather than looking desperate, he just looked frustrated, and more with himself than Anastasios.  The young patriarch returned his attention to his intruder.  “You’ve lived for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.  I can promise you that a visit will come, especially while I and Hikaze are alive.  Until then, you need only make yourself presentable- or at the very least learn to control your impulsiveness.  That’s your current major flaw.”

               “I don’t want to hear that from the person who lets that run amok as he pleases.”

               Anastasios’ expression dropped.  “That is a lost cause.  Consider it a blessing that you have more intelligence than him, and simply leave it at that.  At least you’re capable of learning.  He could barely even learn the most basic of noble pleasantries in three months.  I’m sure you will find more success.  Consider it a compliment that I even have expectations.”

“… So… where am I supposed to learn these… manners?” the fox grumbled out.

               “You can ask Théo.  His manners are overly impeccable.”  The man wouldn’t even use Anastasios’ name in an informal setting.  “I’ll tell him to teach you if you can manage to approach him with the basic manner of saying ‘please’.”  The Zoroark grumbled, and Anastasios could almost see his tail swishing back and forth in frustration.  Was it because he had memories of Erebus doing the exact same sort of thing?  That was probably why he was willing to even give the fox a chance at all.  “Regardless, we’re going to have a while before I can even attempt to invite her anyways,” Anastasios ground out as his eyes shifted to the mountains of paperwork on his desk.  Seriously, was his papous trying to bury him?  It certainly felt like it.  “Can’t do a damned thing until I finish all the work papous foisted back off on me the second we resolved that issue.  I can’t tell if its supposed to be training or a punishment.”

               The fox snickered.

               “Just remember,” Anastasios said with a nasty grin, “I can’t send even so much as a letter to Lady Aria until this is all complete.”  That wiped the smile of the other’s face pretty quickly, and the fox was back to frowning at the mere idea of Anastasios’ general existence.  “Ah ah ah,” Anastasios scolded.  “Remember, manners.���

               “I didn’t even-!”  The fox grunted loudly before storming out, likely not wanting to deal with Anastasios any more than he absolutely had to today. 

               “You do so love to get people to leave you alone by making them as upset with you as you can, don’t you,” Celia remarked from her spot on the chair nearby where she had heard every bit of the conversation.

               “If only it worked half as well on that idiot, I could finally get some of this work done.”

               “Shoulda thought of that before you went off to do everything on your own.”

               “I’d say ‘I won’t do it again’, but this house won’t give me much of a choice.”  Anastasios returned to his work, muttering discontentedly under his breath about the ridiculousness of bureaucracy and politics in a house.

[najarsinkedpages]

is it just me, or does Taylor Swift's Speak Now TV FTV song Timeless radiate such an eerily beautiful vibe?

Imagine loving someone and documenting it - through literature, art, music, anything - and knowing that no matter where you are in the world, whether you exist or not, whether you're remembered or not, a part of your love is always going to be floating some where in history, frozen in time, depicting your love and perhaps making some one else feel the same way you did when you fell.

It is a scary thought, but also, isn't it pleasant to know that you've left behind an irrevocable part of you that is embedded in time and history?

-najar balia

[kjsupernova]

Poisson d'avril! Balia may have already had a fish on her back, but that did not stop Ares from adding another one!

Balia is amused by the fish that is added to her Fish cape. She’s having fun with this. She just laughs and hands him a muffin.

“Hey Ares. Thanks for the fish!”

[b-raypokemontime]

"Oh no! I just can't anymore! It hurts too much!" Bali a dramatically flops to the floor. Giggling.

b-raypokemontime​:

Bali a dramatically clutches at her heart.

“Uncle Shii! You cut me to the quick! How could you say that to me?”

“Sorry kid, but I just can’t lie to ya!“

[writing-appreciation]

Peter Parker X Latina!Reader hc

-Because either I'm not looking at the right tags, or there is legit a seriously lacking amount of latina!reader stuff out in the world.

Warnings: Spanish, FLUFF ATTACK,

Where to start?

Peter takes Spanish with you which is great.

As a native speaker, you can help him where he needs it (which is pretty much all the time).

"Como se dice ____?" Is thrown around a bunch.

And when you speak in spanish?

Peter's done for.

Every word flows well and is said with such confidence.

It makes him super self conscious tbh.

He doesn't want you to think he's stupid.

Which, you would never, but he's just scared.

And you can guarantee he'd be at your Quince.

He would totally be your main chambelan.

He may have asked to be it, but you were going to chose him anyway.

Which he takes VERY SERIOUSLY.

When you asked him if he was available for the practice/the actual Quince, he literally devoted all of his free time to it.

Anything to make your special day, special.

But in the end, you're both 15, the dance wasn't perfect, but it was darn close.

Peter apologizing for the rest of the night because he thinks he ruined your night.

Of course, the most important thing, your abuela.

Peter practiced his spanish for WEEKS. He had this full introduction planned out to the dot. He was ready...

Until you lead him to your Abuela.

"Abuelita, ese es mi amigo, Peter."

"Hola, mi llamo es Peter y mucho gusto."

The poor boy blanked after that.

But your abuela loved him.

"Eres muy guapo! Tenga, tamales."

It was this approval of him that gave him confidence to ask you out after the Quince.

As you were eating a piece of tres leche cake, he nervously apprached and hesitantly asked you out.

Obviously, you said yes.

Speaking of food, Peter is so food driven.

Probably because of that pesky high metabolism.

The first time you took him out to have proper tacos, he was on full alert.

The best taco places are in shady places at late at night.

He was ready to go full Spiderman at any moment.

But he felt relieved when the vendor waved you over by name.

"Peter, what kind do you want?"

He was overwhelmed.

"Uh, pollo?"

You got al pastor because AL PASTOR

And when he saw you basically dunk your tacos in limon, he thought he'd do the same.

Big mistake.

The boy couldn't handle it.

But he did LOVE the tacos. (Obviously).

Another fun food activity is the Michoacana.

The best Michoacana was a bit of a walk, but WORTH IT.

When you entered, Peter immediately was drawn to the paletas.

He ended up ordering for himself which shocked you. He definitely practiced before.

"Me gustaría una paleta de fresas."

You opted for a mangonada with extra chamoy.

Peter, obviously asking what it was.

You offered him a taste and you could see his eyes light up at the taste.

Frequent Michoacana visits from then on.

One day during a movie night, you threw out that you wanted an elote.

Peter, in his innocent basicness, was confused as to why you wanted "corn."

When you found out he had never had an elote, you actually freaked out.

So yet again, it was your job to introduce Peter to a delacacy.

The corn was boiling and you got to making the crema.

Peter offered to help, but you immediately denied. Elote was an experience, he needed to be surprised by it.

You pulled the corn out at put it on a palo and began the best part.

Peter watched in confusion as you coated the corn in the crema and dipped it in queso, finally topping off with a bit of chile.

"Boom, elote."

He took a bite and was hooked.

Of course, you'd both end up with a mess of crema and queso (because there is NO way of eating elote and not getting messy.)

One day during an impromptu study session, your mom mentioned a balia for a cousin's birthday that was next week.

Peter was intrigued.

So he ended up as a plus one.

Let me just tell you. This boy jams to a good spanish bop.

MS?

Ka Paz?

Montez?

All of it. He jams, but still is a wallflower.

It wasn't until a slower song, Cuando me Emaroro (Enrique Iglesias), played that you dragged him to dance.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders,

His hands were gently holding your waist

Perfectamente.

Peter obviously didn't understand the song fully, but you did.

You relected on the words.

It was the moment cuando te enamoraste con Peter.

When the night was over, Peter googled the song and read a translation of the lyrics.

He went red right quick. He danced to a song about falling in love with you.

Three days later, he said it... in an interesting way.

"(Y/n)?"

"Hmm?"

"Pienso que te me quieres."

"Y, como sabes este?"

"Porque yo sé mi corazón."

You were confused at first, but you realized he just had a small grammar error. Instead of saying "I think I'm falling in love with you" he said "I think you're falling in love with me." Instead of calling him out and ruining the moment...

"Te queiro, amor."

He melted then and there. Not only did you tell him you loved him, but also you called him amor.

Peter knew that was a big deal.

He didn't even know what do to next.

"Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"Venga y dame un besito." You tapped your cheek.

He didn't need a translation to understand that.

There, a thing.

[lamentalia]

Lamentalia - Alfred - Ch.5, Pt.2

“…Lovi! Welcome back!” Feliciano’s voice rings a little too eagerly. “You’re home so late! Everyone was worri—“

“Feliciano, I’m not an idiot.” Comes the low voice, cutting through Feliciano’s greeting like a sharp knife through a um… a potato? Alfred winces again, trying to keep still.

“I know there’s a tom here.” The voice continues. “I’ve been tracking his scent all over this gods forsaken forest, and I find what? His tracks lead right. Fucking. HERE. And you are not going to tell me that you, and everyone else standing outside this door, don’t know about it.” Stomping footsteps take the low voice closer to where he’d heard Feli stop.

“Ehhh…..” Alfred hears Feliciano’s nervous voice wavering and unable to retort. There’s a short pause and some shuffling sounds.

“You’re shitting me. That’s him, isn’t it.” The low voice breathes. Oh… Uh oh? Well, that didn’t take long. Oh, shit shit shit, footsteps! Coming closer! What now??  

“Lovi aspetta, non—”

The blankets fly off of him and there’s nothing he can do but await a reaction. To his credit though, Alfred does his best impression of a potato and stares blankly up at a very furious looking cat.

He looks uncannily similar to Feliciano; not identical like Alfred and Mattie are— his jaw is squarer, and his nose is kinda different; he’s probably a little older too— but they must be brothers at least.

‘Lovi’ looks at Alfred with an expression that threatens unspeakable violence before turning to Feliciano, probably to start yelling again. Weirdly though, he pauses, looks back at Alfred again, mouth still open, and just sort of stares at his face and down to his prone form for quick second. Alfred somehow resists the urge to smile nervously and wave. He is a potato right now.

“Per piacere Lovi, ascoltami! Non sa de—”

Alfred hardly has time to register that Feliciano is speaking an unfamiliar language, but whatever he said, it causes 'Lovi’ to snap out of his momentary gazing. He turns his snarl back on Feliciano.

“No excuses!” he shouts. “I spend years keeping this place a secret, I shed my blood, sweat and tears every day for this place, and for what!? We have ONE RULE, Feli—”

“—But Lovino—”

“What?! What could have possibly been worth it?!”

“H— he just… he showed up on the doorstep by himself, Lovi! Out of nowhere, I swear! And he was wet and freezing and I thought he was going to die out there, and then he—” Feliciano’s eyes are tearing up and his mouth wobbles.

“Oh, Yeah? So you decide it’s worth the safety and the livelihood of every molly living here for—”

“—AAAhhhh Lovi!!—”

Feliciano wails loudly over the end of Lovino’s sentence and Alfred is briefly as startled and confused as Lovino looks.

“Lovino! Stavo cercando di dirti che non sa delle micie! Era svenuto e quando si è svegliato non sapeva nulla!!” Feliciano rattles off to Lovino, who’s mouth drops open in shock, glancing briefly at Alfred with wide eyes. He recovers quickly, though, and argues back in the same language.

They go back and forth for a bit, so Alfred puts his brain to work with the context he has. Lovino definitely just said that there are mollies here. Objectively speaking, all Alfred knows about them is that they’re super rare because the Void causes them to get sick and die really easily. Not counting Mama, he’s never even met a molly before.

Judging by what Lovino’s been saying and the way Feliciano’s been acting, it stands to reason that Alfred has stumbled upon a secret hideout that protects mollies. Mollies who will be in danger for some reason if the secret gets out!

Something resonates in Alfred’s chest at the thought. This is actually really cool! Kinda like the stories he used to make up about the cats in the history books. Like the lost prince of Balia who he imagined would return one day to save the cats of his kingdom from tyranny! (Mattie made fun of him and said it was cliché, but it was one of Alfred’s favorites.) Uh. Anyway! Lovino and Feliciano are out here helping cats in need and now they think he’s jeopardizing their efforts! He needs to tell them that he can be trusted! More than trusted!

“Hey? Hey, guys?! You said there are mollies here? And they’re in danger? I’m so on board with this operation, you don't even know!” Alfred’s eyes are practically sparkling as he interrupts their argument, earnestly. “Don’t even sweat it! Your secret is totally safe with me!”

The two of them stop arguing to stare at Alfred, then the tension seems to crack. Lovino slaps a hand over his face and even Feliciano groans a little, looking less than relieved. It’s not exactly the reaction Alfred was expecting!

“Dobbiamo parlare.” Lovino says sternly, turning back to a grimacing Feliciano. “Fuori. Ora.”

He then turns to the door. “Feliks!”

The door opens immediately, as though the cat behind it had been waiting for their cue.

“No problem, boss.” A cat with chin length blond hair, tawny fur, and a bored expression steps inside and leans against the wall near the door frame, hand on hip. “And if it’s not a problem with you, or whatever? The mollies wanna patch him up.”

Hey now, that sounds nice!

Lovino raises an eyebrow at the newcomer and begins pushing Feliciano brusquely toward the door. Er… what now? Who is this? What’s going on? Alfred tries to sit up, but he’s got such a cramp going, he can’t really budge. It seems like his ankle doesn’t want to take any weight right now, either.

“They can do whatever they want to him.” Lovino says as he passes Feliks. “And don’t call me boss.”

Without a single look back at Alfred, Lovino and Feliciano have gone. He’s a little let-down to be dismissed like this, but now he has another new cat to interact with. A cat who is staring him down with a neutral, appraising smile and those intensely bored eyes. It’s not quite like the familiar sizing up that enemies give him before a fight begins. Honestly, that would be comfortable in comparison. In fact, he’s beginning to realize that Feliks’ ‘bored expression’ is deceptively hard to read and rather unnerving. He feels as if he’s being read like a book.

Then, when the silence has stretched Alfred’s nerves to their breaking point, Feliks smirks, head tilting to the side. The tense moment is over. 

“Pff. Yeah, no, this one’s not gonna be a problem.” Feliks says toward the door, then addresses Alfred. “Like, welcome to the Sanctuary, I guess.”

★TBC★ Thanks again to @flamaflavio for the Italian! :D

This part took a while, but it was fun. Hope you all enjoy! Crit and Comments welcome! :D

[b-raypokemontime]

7. What is their hair texture like? 8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece?

Balia has rather fine hair. Meaning the strands are very fine. There's just a LOT of them. Like, if people have like 1-2 hairs per topical, she's got like 4-6. And it's very smooth too. Like touching strands of silk.

Balia tends to wear earrings only on the day to day. Sometimes a necklace. All of which are more elegant and/or simple. Though I'm sure she has one or two statement pieces. She used to have a ring she always wore that was from her mother. A simple gold band with a square aqua stone set in it. It was taken from her while she was being held captive. It was a signature piece until then. Her signature piece currently is the gold sunflower locket that she always wears since Miguel @deathyless gave it to her. But she also has a simple string of darker colored pearl earrings and necklace she favors too.

And this isn't even talking about the stuff she wears on stage because she doesn't really count them she feels like they're more like costume stuff.

[sandy-anderson]

2020-Oct-26 Lunedì: Ciao – servus humillimus sum, o domine spectabilis

Sandy:  Last night, and today, there was a call to have a manifestation at piazza Plebiscito at 6 pm this evening.  Hang on...

Kelly:  I tell you, Napolitani know how to do things.  Imagine that!  A manifestazione in which people are just assembled, all standing peacefully and social distancing!!

Sandy:  At 8 pm I went off to piazzetta del Nilo as usual, but even on the walk there, I realised something was definitely "up".  Everything was closed, very nearly everything.  And the immigrant-run Kebab bars were empty.  

I get to del Nilo, and it's basically deserted, a few people about, people waiting to sell drugs and tourists walking through.  So I take a seat at the other end of the piazzetta and play/practice for a couple hours as usual.  There's definitely a different atmosphere in people, especially later on, as I sensed they had been at the Plebiscito.

When I get back home I start cooking rice and dhal, and 20 minutes ago, Khaled arrives, flushed.  Where's he been?  Piazza Plebiscito.

"Ma quante persone?" I ask.

"Molti," is all he said to me.  

But it speaks volumes.  I will find out more tomorrow.

Kelly:  That's precisely why Sicilians, even on this side of the Island have warmth for Napolitani.  They are us, too.  I've been seeing messages on Instagram from our mayor basically saying that while he understands the new shit coming down from on high, it's just not on.

Sandy:  Well, it's kind of amazing, Napoli.  My instinct from the metro train incident was not wrong. I am just amazed, and wished I'd gone too now.

Kelly:  This was our mayor Luca Cannata's message today:

« Ho cercato di coordinare con alcuni colleghi sindaci le nuove disposizioni che regoleranno le nostre vite nei prossimi giorni perché ancora una volta ci ritroviamo sommersi da nuovi DPCM di Conte e nuove Ordinanze del Presidente della Regione.  Ancora una volta si annunciano chiusure e restrizioni alle attività produttive, alle attività scolastiche ed alle attività sportive.  Chiusure e restrizioni che comporteranno un ulteriore danno al tessuto economico e sociale già indebolito nella nostra terra. »

« Occorre prima di tutto EQUILIBRIO e che si faccia chiarezza perché mettere in sicurezza le persone e la loro salute è sicuramente la priorità ma allo stesso tempo non si possono lasciare i cittadini e gli imprenditori in balia di norme poco chiare e a volte contrastanti senza prevedere giuste e immediate risposte in termini economici e sociali! »

[In English: ]

« I tried to coordinate with some fellow mayors the new provisions that will regulate our lives in the coming days because once again we find ourselves overwhelmed by Conte's new Prime Ministerial Decree and new Ordinances by the President of the Region.  Once again closures and restrictions on production activities, school activities and sports activities are announced.  Closures and restrictions that will lead to further damage to the already weakened economic and social fabric of our land. »

« BALANCE must first and foremost be made clear because putting people and their health in safety is certainly the priority but at the same time citizens and entrepreneurs cannot be left at the mercy of unclear and sometimes conflicting rules without providing fair and immediate answers in economic and social terms! »

Sandy:  He's very savvy, solid, just from that text.

Kelly:  Yeah, he's incredibly savvy.  He turned down a seat in the senate in Rome, too.  He said "While I'm honoured, I still have work to do in my town".

...Luca Cannata, mayor of Avola, in Sicily

[b-raypokemontime]

"M-hm, shot in the leg. A kidnapping gone wrong the papers said." She can to leave it at that. It wasn't a pretty story and this kid didn't need to know all the crud that had happened to her. Not did she need to relive it. As it was Balia was walking her memories and emotions off from coming out about the topic. Made her sound passive about it.

"Right? You would think that we'd have evolved passed using weapons like that. But bad people still do bad things so..."

b-raypokemontime​:

“Well I’m sorry that you did miss it. Even if you’re not really into pop.” She put the ribbon she was using as a bookmark in her book.

“Oh yeah. She was shot you know. In the leg. And it… let’s just say it never healed right. Had to go through therapy and everything.” she but her chin in her hands and gave a little smile.

“How many? A good question. Think you could guess how many I’ve been to?”

“Wait what? Shot in the leg?!“ Ares repeated, “Holy shit!“

He visibly looked uncomfortable at that fact. That kind of took a higher priority in his mind than concerts, “Jeez! I can’t believe people even still use those things! Not when Pokemon are everywhere!” 

…Not that anyone should ever use a Pokemon for that purpose though.

[kjsupernova]

How many pairs of shoes do you own?

Balia: 5 pairs of regular shoes. 2 pairs to go with my Performance outfits. I don’t have that many. And frankly if I can get away with not wearing any shoes at all I tend to go that route.  I like being barefoot.

[carusopsicoterapeuta]

Come fai ad amare se non metti in preventivo il dolore. Paradossalmente più si ama e più si eleva il tasso di malinconia, con la percezione di sentirsi indifesi e in balia dell’altro. Prima di dare il tuo cuore , assicurati che l’altra persona sia all’altezza del tuo dono. Che strategia adotti per limitare eventuali danni alla tua mente e al tuo cuore ? #psicologiapositiva #psicologia #psicoterapia #amare #stileuomo #fashionblogger #fashionista #stile (presso Equipe Logodinamica: Psicoterapia, mindfulness, public speaking, balbuzie) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw3_MsAhffi/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1m0yqzzu4ud8c

[b-raypokemontime]

"It's a solid option and I have the money. On top of that it would give you a room that didn't give you dreams from past owners to bother you. Or a little granny flat for yourself and Celia. With your own bit of garden or greenhouse." Balia reasoned. It made sense.

"Why?" She got out all the veggies she was going to use for the sauce. Primavera sauce was typically Spring vegetables. Which Balia loved, but she always added some others.

"Well its spring, so spring vegetables. Peas and turnips, strawberries and the like. That kind of stuff. And the last of the potatoes i had growing in th he raised beds in the greenhouse should be ready to harvest."

b-raypokemontime​:

“Alright. After you do that we can work on the filling for the ravioli together. I’m thinking some of them will be herbed ricotta and some sausage. How’s that sound?” As Balia said this she was handing him his apron, and then pulling on her own regular one. With the fabric printed with citrus slices. Then she went to go get the things out of the fridge.

“So, we still haven’t found the right new house yet, so it’s looking more and more like we’re going to have to look at properties and building a house. So I’m thinking we might get one more spring harvest out of this place. Do you want to plant some things with me again?”

“Sounds good to me,” Esaias replied, taking the apron and putting it on.  He pulled a clip out of his pocket to keep his bangs out of his face, fussing with it for a moment so as not to catch one of the beads, before went about gathering the ingredients and washing his hands.

Esaias eyed her warily.

“You’re going to build a new house?”  He considered it for several moments, but it wasn’t like he had anything he could tell her to do otherwise.  It was her house.  He’d just thought that, with the whole ‘stalker’ thing that she’d want to move out sooner rather than later, but if she was fine staying here a little longer, he wasn’t going to complain.  “Sure, I don’t mind helping you plant again.  Anything particular you have in mind?”

[endeavorsreward]

Excerpt (Location Indeterminate)

Morning in Lionel, and Beowulf Cadmus was screaming.

He knew that the screams came before waking; Aliste had told him as much before. But this day, he was not in the Gryphon barracks, nor some village inn out in the wilds. This day he was in a woman's bed, a well-carved four-poster with fresh clean sheets, and he knew even as his eyes opened, as his night terrors emerged in something like a bestial roar, that he had woken the woman as well, and so his horror became a multivaried affair, the usual fear co-minging with the knowledge that this woman, this extraordinary woman, would dart from the bed in fright.

Instead, she grabbed him from behind and held him, tight, until the screaming stopped. It took some time, and it ended in gasping shudders, but it did. Beowulf never cried—the damned had no right of tears—but one could be forgiven for mistaking his raspy breath for sobbing. They stayed that way for a time, her arms around his bare chest, her face pressed warm and dry into his back, until he finally he chanced to look back over his shoulder at her, this woman he met only a day earlier.

She gave him sober eyes in exchange. Concerned, yes, but not fretful. The sheets covered only to her waist, but her long auburn hair fell down far past her chest and provided her with modesty with which she seemed entirely unconcerned. The sun’s rise was split apart by the muntins in the bedroom window, and scales of light danced across her face as she studied him quietly. As they studied each other.

“I believe it would be fairness to ask after that terror’s origin,” she finally said, “but also I believe it would be fairness if you are not ready to speak of it.”

He exhaled a breath he did not know he was holding, turned away to haul up his breeches. “You remain as ever unflappable; I daresay explanation is more than owed.”

He could feel her shrug without witnessing it. “A halfaday’s time entitles me not to all a man’s secrets. A fear that comes to a courageous man in the night, it is a matter of trust.”

He padded barefoot over to the window, braced against it with both fists. “You’d bed a man who did not trust you?”

“You chose to bed a woman before finding out,” she replied through a satisfied grin.

He swung the window open. It was spring and the air was brisk but not unpleasant, even in a state of undress. He felt his stomach settle and turned back to her. She was calmly running a brush through her hair. “You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known.”

“’Tis no compliment,” she said dryly, “To lay the rest of my sex low, ere I even believed you knew much of women before now.”

Beowulf frowned and shook his head. “I have served with women strong, with women wise, and with women true. In truth’s name I have known women fair, as well. But I’ll not renounce my words. If I’ve only not yet made acquaintance of other women of your disposition, let me instead frame it in matters ineffable.”

And so Reis Duelar put down her brush and frowned. “You speak of love then, Beowulf? I refuse it. You do not yet know me, and I’ll not dwell upon your pedestal long before my feet tire.”

“I...” He flinched as if struck. “What has this been, then, if not love?”

“Nothing I regret, for certain.” Reis beckoned him with one hand. “Tell me your story, then, if you’re willing.”

He did not return to the bed, to her arms, no matter how his body yearned. Instead he took one of the bed posts in his hand and leaned. “I oft recall in the night the hunts I’ve completed. At times exaggerated, even such that I can see not only those I’ve killed but their families, erupting from the ground to swallow me whole. A great Hell underground into which I fall, fires hotter than those we endured yesterday. Great skeletons bleached and gleaming in the dark.”

“You speak not of humans, but of beasts.” Reis reached out, wrapped her hand around his where it held the post. “I bore witness to the truth of you in the moments following our meeting yesterday.”

It was only past noontime when they met. Beowulf was standing with two other men of God in the town square, and he was watching as one put his boot to a peasant’s neck.

It was the dragoon, Abel, who was pressing down on the heretic, a nasty little grin sneaking free and then retreating again and again. It was said that someone out in the eastern farmlands had set up a pagan chapel in a barn, and that attendance was growing. This would be a death sentence in any land in Ivalice, but to do so in Lionel, and to do so in the shadow of Balias Tor, no less, was blasphemous to such a degree that the Templars had not left it to the Cardinal to police his own land. Beowulf was wondering to himself how something could be more or less heretickal—how something could be an affront to God by degree—when he caught a judgmental look from the third of the men of the cloth assembled. Loffrey Wodring raised his eyebrows silently. Beowulf was ostensibly there as representative of the Gryphon Knights, but it was a rather open secret that he was being considered for membership to the Templars. This was, then, to prove to be his initiation.

The peasant was bawling and scrabbling in the dirt as Abel asked his questions. A crowd had gathered, gawping, and had strangled shut the exits from the town square, still giving them a wide berth. Loffrey sort of... tilted his head, allowing Beowulf to interpret.

Aliste was the cynical one, the one who whispered in the dark that no small part of the church’s stance on paganism had more to do with politics, with Prince Lennard’s grand speeches regarding the holy land of Bervenia, of Glabados. Beowulf was a man of stronger faith—it was why he was here, now, at the side of two Templar knights, being considered for a tabard. Probably yellow, if they let him choose. His favorite color, the color of his mother’s dresses, of chocobo plumage, of the flowers that grew outside the chapel.

He was meant to break this man. Perhaps literally, perhaps not, but break him indeed until he told them something of use. If he even knew. But what happened instead was that a woman pushed through the crowds with the force of a cannonball. Beautiful, in a dress of white and blue and pink, displaying for all the world the most perfect pair of shoulders that Faram had ever sculpted for a Hume. She stomped up to a distance of five or six feet from their assemblage before Loffrey placed a hand on his sword’s hilt. She halted then, wisely, but for all the world did not look afraid.

“What has this man done?” She asked, and Abel rolled his eyes.

“Begging your pardon, milady, but he’s under suspicion for heresy, so if you’d kindly...”

“Heresy?” She looked aghast. “But that’s Slippery Dane Milch you have.”

Loffrey was implacable. “The Milch farmstead is one of a number that are suspected of...”

“Are not church men meant to be lettered?” She was incredulous. “You surely seek Backside Dane Milch, who owns the farmland! The brothers haven’t spoken in a score!”

Abel did not lift his boot, but he looked unsure. “Their names are both Dane?”

“’Twas a family of six, and all four boys were called Dane,” she said with finality.

“Stand him up,” Loffrey barked, and took a step towards her. She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “We’ll maintain his bondage until such time as this has been sorted. But you claim to know overmuch about the peasantry for a woman of Quality.”

“She knows everyone in town!” shouted someone from the crowd, and she actually blushed.

Loffrey looked at Beowulf, who in turn looked away in shame. He was so often engaged at the castle, or sent out in Delacroix’s name, that he in fact knew very few people in the town proper.

“How’s that, then?” asked Abel, and the woman scowled at him.

“I...”

“Fire!” shouted someone, and then “Fire!” shouted someone else, and the crowd exploded in panic all at once. Smoke was unfurling from a nearby house, thick and black and fast, and people were beginning to trample one another.

Beowulf did not hesitate then, did not look to the two Templars, just shouted “control the panic!” and launched himself forwards, over Slippery Dane, over a pair of toppling seamstresses, and then over a planter (yellow flowers) and an overturned wagon, through the surging mass of people, up the roadway to where a bakery was consuming itself in flames. And then he saw that the woman from the square had not only beat him to building, he’d only just arrived to see her already throwing her weight against the door, breaking it open and falling into the fire.

Someone had started pumping water—he felt someone throw a well-bucket of water at him even as he smashed the shop window with the pommel of his sword, one gauntlet over his face as the fire surged out towards him. Then he vaulted in after the woman.

She was nowhere to be found on the shop floor. He had a single moment of absurdity, a thought that the place should smell like bread, or at least the toasting of it, before he was pushing past the counter and up the building’s back stairs. The ground floor was built from stone, but everything above was wooden, likely added later, and rundown. It was going up like tinder. He dodged a falling beam and wrapped his cape over his mouth and nose, searching.

He found the woman in a bedroom farthest back. In her arms was an infant, and she was shouting at an elderly woman who seemed resistant. When she realized she’d been followed, she turned.

“I can only carry them both if she cooperates! But she’ll not ride upon my back!”

“Is anyone else here?” He shouted back, and she whipped her head back and forth. There would be time enough for answers when they weren’t in danger of the floor giving way beneath them. He picked up the old woman, who was shouting curses at him all the while, and he and the woman both turned to leave when the roof caved in above the stairwell, blocking the way back.

“Here!” She shouted, darting to one side. He could do naught but follow, as she led the way to a window no bigger than two-by-two handlengths. She kicked out with slipper-shod foot at the wall beneath, but it did not groan. Beowulf was much larger and wearing armor. He kicked the rotten, burning wood in turn and it gave way, opening the wall enough to see a roof some distance away.

“You’ll have to go first,” she said.

“I cannot leave you to--”

“I cannot catch you!”

Sounder logic he’d never heard. He’d also never make the jump while carrying the crone who even then kicked at him. He lowered her, said a prayer, and then jumped. He saw the old woman fighting with this stranger who failed to blink at blaze and sword alike, and then she shoved the old woman out. Beowulf was so startled he almost failed to catch her, but thank Faram he did.

And then it was her turn, infant child in her arms, and she leapt—and for a moment, seemed to fly. Sun at her back, flames at her feet, and the angels carried her down to him.

If he held her a second too long, it was only that they both gazed down at the child, who cooed and smiled as if this had all been a grand mummery for his benefit. Then they turned to see each other, faces too close, and she favored him with the same smile. He lowered her quickly.

The hour to follow brought answers. The old woman had set the fire, and it was not clear if it was grief or dementia that guided her hand, but she’d little thought for the child who’d die with her. The parents had come to see the inquisition and she’d taken her chance while it existed. Slippery Dane had... slipped away... in the confusion, and Abel had pursued, but the injuries amongst the townsfolk had been minimal. Loffrey had offered a single respectful nod before leaving to join the pursuit. It so happened that the four Danes were all but identical, and Beowulf suspected there would be a further comedy of errors to follow. He could only hope that if it were to end in bloodshed, that at the least the right Dane would lose his head.

And the woman’s name was Reis. Her parents had passed away when she was scarcely of age, and she’d been too gregarious to remain shut away behind the manor gates. He was grateful that the Templars had left so quickly, that they did not hear the citizens call her “the Angel of Lionel” in all sincerity, for such idolatry might be less than amusing in Delacroix’s own home. She’d walked amongst the people for years, too curious and too delighted to be denied. She’d waited tables and mended clothes, taught letters and bandaged knees. Never in presumption, just by virtue of being present and offering a hand for a day, or a week. Never for coin, because coin she had, and station enough to live, even in obscurity.

She was covered in ash and soot and looked radiant. In all the years to follow, that would be the vision of her that would stay with him the surest, the remains of fire at her lips and fingertips. He escorted her home. The yellow flowers were her favorite, too. They had tea, and then they had spirits. They’d bathed the ash from each other’s faces, and then further. Laughing all the while. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world. And even now, in the light of day, with his cape draped over a chair and the herald of the Gryphon Knights staring back at him, he hadn’t a regret.

And when he’d woken screaming, she’d held him until the shudders ceased.

“You are such a serious man,” she said. “Serious even in your joy.”

“Have you ever beheld a dragon?” he asked her, and she shook her head. He slowly eased down to a seat on the bed. “They are beautiful, in their way. Almost... elegant. To slay a cockatrice is nothing, or a behemoth. A matter of skill, or arms, or numbers, but they are wild. A dragon has light in its eyes, it knows things beyond our ken.”

“You sound like you’ve come from a storybook.” She poked him with toes from beneath the sheets.

“In truth, the knight from whom I learned the trade, Ser Gauwyn, might well have been such, by his noble bearing and wisdom. But not I. Not every kill I’ve made was so fraught. I’ve severed the heads of a hydra that had charged a village, had blood in its maws, and not felt guilt. But I’ve taken club to eggs; I’ve entered caves where the beasts slept and opened their underbellies before they could wake. And I oft welcome it, for it keeps me instead from hunting my own kind.” He looked towards the open window, where there was a flutter of bird wings. “It shall be my penance to bear a knight’s arms until death grants me leave to retire. When that day comes, no Templar shall perish, but a hell-bound hunter of dragons.”

Reis took his hand. “I did not see it in full before now, how it eats you to raise the blade at all.”

“Should it not?”

“Aye, it should.” She took his chin with her other hand and turned it to her. “But you are no fool, Beowulf Cadmus, that thinks all knights feel the same. Better a hunter of dragons than a Templar, if those were your choices only. But they needn’t be.”

“I welcome your faith, Reis.” Beowulf’s eyes wavered. She did not relinquish his face, but her eyes were yet hard to meet. “But I’m not certain I’ve the gift for aught else.”

She did not argue the point; they’d only met a day ago. “Then find at least something for which raising your blade feels righteous.”

“A search that will be delayed,” he said with a sigh. “For I’m sent on the morrow to Romanda.”

“So far, for the Cardinal?”

“A lord there named Hrothgar, who has been a friend to the church.” He gently took her hand away from his chin. “To be sure there is more to it, but I’ve little mind for politicking. And what of you?”

“What of me? I’ll live here, as I always have.” She gave him a sly look. “Do you intend to ask me to wait for you at that open window?”

“I suspect you wait for little that you do not already want.”

“Then know for the time being, I will wait, Beowulf Cadmus. I think I’ve already been waiting.” She embraced him, and he her, and Lionel continued to move outside without them. “But that is tomorrow. And in the fullness of truth, my feet are not yet tired.”

And in another day’s time he was riding. Many days travel, up north past Zaland, west to Gariland, north into Fovoham. Near the Galgastan border, in a small village north of Yardrow, a rider caught up to him with a missive that he did not open, a letter from Mullonde. He did not open it all the time riding through the northern wastes, past burnt-out villages, the remains of plague tents and mass graves. Not until he’d left port on a boat for Romanda did he tear its edge and free the sheet which only bore a spare few lines from Loffrey. He was to be a Templar of Mullonde.

And by the time he’d returned from Hrothgar’s hall, a second pair of eyes had fallen upon Reis, cold eyes, and for all the grand days yet to come between them, in many ways it was already too late.

[b-raypokemontime]

3, 8, 14, 24, 31, 33, 41

How do they position themselves in a group? Do they like to be the center of attention, or do they hang back at the edges of a crowd?

Balia positions herself in the front. Especially if she's got people behind her to protect. The first in the charge to Battle and the last to leave once everyone has been seen to. She'd rather be standing side by side with someone that can keep up with her. But she's a Protector and with always act accordingly. She doesn't seek to be the center of attention but tends to find herself as the center of attention sometimes. She is a bit shy, but is sort of used to it by now.

Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell?

She is the most at ease when in a place she's comfortable in, in comfy clothes, with someone she trusts, big windows, or out in a field somewhere. Or in a kitchen cooking. You can tell mostly because she'll be singing happy bouncy songs or something serene. Her posture will be open and free.

She's the most uneasy when with strangers that don't pass the vibe check. Or when around ghosts and certain Pokémon that were used to hurt her at some point in her life. When she is not comfortable she has one hand holding her injured wrist, or touching her neck. She'll bite her lip, or if she's feeling cornered there will be a bit of a curl to it as if she's bearing her teeth. Her posture will be closed off, glancing at possible exits

What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?

Balia cares deeply about her friends and family(which includes her pokemon family), about her music and dance, and about people in general. She believes in Arceus and in treating all people with kindness and respect. She tries to express this with her whole heart and soul. All bets are off if you an asshole or threatened her or her loved ones.

How do they present themselves socially? What distinguishes their “persona” from their “true self”, and what causes that difference?

Balia is usually herself all the time? She presents herself as a humble, sweet, caring person because that's who she is. The only thing she hides is the obvious fact that she's not completely human to the majority of people she knows and meets. Because it's safer for her and her loved ones that way. So I guess her Persona is the totally normal Human Idol and Music artist. Her true self is that she's a Meloetta.

Is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? What makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? Why?

I've never encountered deal breaker being used in a positive way. So I'm not sure how to answer that on the positive. But the negative is anyone that tries to hurt her, her loved ones, children. Jerks.... Cream cheese and asparagus. People touching her without permission. Anyone calling her petnames without permission. All these things will spoil an activity or ruin a moment of her day.

How do they learn about the world–what is their preferred learning style? Hands-on learning with trial and error? Research, reading, and note-taking? Observation or rote memorization? Inductive or deductive reasoning? Seeking patterns and organization? Taking things apart and putting them back together? Creative processing via discussing, writing about, or dramatizing things?

Mostly hands on, but also observation and some research.... um... yeah.

What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors or motifs? Why?

Kind, spring, pink, tired, strong, daisies and sunflowers, and fresh bread. Field of Flowers. Speak softly and carry a big stick. xD She is the big stick. Images and Motifs? Siren, Mermaid. The Furies. A Good man Goes to War. I mean, if you know Balia then you can probably see why these words and that quote associate with her.