#encantresse

[nobilisseoblige]

perhaps it is unbecoming for any respectable lady to nurse a grudge so early in the day — when there were a thousand other things to occupy her thoughts, when there were others she'd rather impress or entertain.

how unfortunate, then, that she should find herself seated next to him at breakfast this morning. just when she'd thought the early bird would catch the worm — or, in this case, the preferred seat next to the preferred partner.

apparently not.

so, with the briefest flicker of a sigh, dorothea turns to him, gaze sharp and disapproving as she gestures toward a bowl just out of reach.

"ferdie, would you be so kind as to pass that over? i'm afraid these delicate limbs of mine are much too frail to exert themselves this early. must be the curse of being a poor commoner, you know."

she flickered like flame to a wick, making her gaze align with his in such abject indigence, he began to trace back his steps to yesterday. if that. he frowned, in kind, wondering if a mere 24 hours were enough to stave off whatever wrongs he had cast on her life. he wished to break into her good graces. actually, no, he shouldn't word it as such. fall into her good graces? walk into her good graces? be granted the honor of her good graces? something in that line, surely, would do his tight-rope-walking heart some good.

"yes, here. of course." he was gladdened to be of some help, gloved hand rolling over the rim of the bowl before passing it over to her. whenever they did get to eat together, (though the 'togetherness' was contentious at best), she had the most dour look on her face. she was a spell-and-a-half, eyes whispering a curse so strong he knew not what knotted tree he would fall asleep by the roots at. "...if I may."

"have I said something to that effect, recently, Dorothea? to you? I am so certain I've offended you in some way, but I cannot fathom the start or end of it." she scathed him with a morning scowl, mouthing a sigh so disappointed he felt it burn at least three tiers back on the House Aegir family tree. "if i could right my wrongs, surely i would." his voice lowered, urgent. hand pressed to his chest like a creed. brow creased in rising concern.

"i know!"

he stood straight up, nose skyward. "here! this is what we shall do." he began to reach over the table, bringing all the dishes a little closer to her. rich greens and chopped scarlets, bell peppers and raining dressings. he shifted the pitchers painted in sealed blue, the sugar pearls, and glazed goose. Ferdinand tapped down every color around her, so she needn't strain herself to reach.

"see? now your morning should be unmatched!"

his eyes, clear as day, looked to her petals expectantly. unflinching. how could he fail her without knowing? how would he do right by her, without understanding? she needn't suffer by his side, if he could just see as she's seen. but what would a rose see when the sun wasn't around? she revoked her splendor from him, as if he were condemned to something lower than dirt. he wondered if they'd ever see a morning without the prick of thorns attached.

regardless. he smiled. it was the least he could do around her. "it's early."

"aren't you glad for it?"

[hermidetta]

it's a childish thing to do. it's far removed from the picture of sophistication she's spent years perfecting.

for once, dorothea doesn't care. it's hard to when stashed away in this bunker, watching classmates hobble on broken limbs and blinking back images of a burning world outside their door.

a frayed blanket is carefully lifted over their heads and adjusted so the thin fabric blocks out everything around them — the cramped quarters, the rundown and gaunt faces, the injuries. should the imagination be stirred, they might even find themselves in one of their rooms: two girls sitting on a bed, ducked beneath the covers and recounting the day's misadventures and otherwise.

"i didn't see you at mealtime," she whispers. from her pocket, dorothea retrieves a bread roll, and holds it out to bernadetta in offering. "here. a fuller stomach makes things a bit more bearable."

only a little.

her gaze falls onto the ground as she wraps her arms around her knees. there's a great deal she wishes to share — but a worn blanket and weary heart can only endure so much weight.

we had to kill a woman, bern. she begged us to. she was suffering. and still, i wanted to try and keep her alive. was that selfish of me? did i add to her misery? or should i have fought harder?

"how was your mission? you have no idea how much i've missed you."

i didn't see you at mealtime. bernadetta's absence is not an uncommon one. the kinder people who notice might bring her something later. they don't know that it isn't only about going outside. now that they are all here, strewn into conflict that may change them all, she has even fewer excuses to refuse.

"i wasn't hungry," mumbles bernadetta. but for dorothea, always, she can try. a hesitant glance at the bread. she has the decency to accept it, even though it sits in her hands like stone.

"we, um…" we had to choose to starve, or lose what made us ourselves. almost everyone chose the first one. it was probably because they were strong, or liked themselves. but me, i did it for the exact opposite. i've always done it for the exact opposite.

and for all of bernadetta's terrors throughout it, perhaps her outing came nowhere close to what had gripped dorothea so that she would bundle up with her now.

"we went through a lot, but we came out okay." the faintest shrug. then she lets herself tip sideways, leaned against dorothea, slipping an arm through her friend's and hugging it because this is where home is, too. after chewing on her own vagueness, lips part again to murmur: "linhardt really scared me. they started turning into… into some kind of giant dog monster?"

bernadetta tells her—about the village, mairenn, the forest, pasithee, the way she swung a saint's bow in desperation like a misshapen axe. she only omits the illusory feast and her own nausea from it.

"and i just don't know," she trails off, voice dwindling. "i don't know why all of this is happening. but i missed you, too. i wish we could've gone together..."

for countless reasons. but the one that gives bernadetta the most pause, as she stares blearily at the bread in her hands, finally slips out of her as a near whisper.

"did something... i mean, um... what happened?" they are here now. bernadetta is here. she gives dorothea's arm another gentle squeeze. warm, reassuring. solid despite all of her smallness, because bernadetta knows her best friend well enough. "if you want, you can always talk about it with me."

[princessmacedon]

while there'd been little time to catch up amid the fighting and preparations, dorothea had seen the princess flitting about, lending her aid to the others.

"maria," she greets, her voice soft. "i’d like you to have this, if you'll accept it." the songstress holds out a whetstone in offering and musters a small smile. "sounds like we’ve got a long fight ahead of us, and if this could make the difference between you staying safe or getting hurt, then i don’t want to take any chances. you do so much for everyone...i want to make sure you're taken care of too."

somewhat abashedly, dorothea also extends the pink ribbon her fan had attached to the gift.

"i know this is the last thing on anyone’s mind...but i figured it couldn’t hurt to have something nice. it's the small things that keep us going, so maybe you can use it for your hair. i think it'd look lovely on you."

Dorothea hands off Whetstone to Maria!

Although the expression on her face is bright as she turns, Maria meets the songstress's gentle tone with her own, a sweet hush spoken through a smile.

"Hi, Dorothea!" Subconsciously she reaches to accept Dorothea's kindness before her eyes even leave the other's face. When they do, they drop lightly to both whetstone and ribbon, eyes widening in wordless realization. It isn't lost on her how precious this gift is; this long battle has worn them down, treasured blades broken against the endless onslaught of enemies. She had even hoped to buy a whetstone herself in Hevring, but-- well, that was the thing about endless onslaughts of enemies.

Yet it is as her fingers brush over the ribbon that her smile blooms anew, admiring it a moment longer before suddenly shifting the whetstone to the crook of her arm. Without hesitation she ties her hair into a modest ponytail, taking extra care to loop the ribbon prettily.

"Hee hee... how does it look?" With an extra dollop of playful, dramatic flair, her arm sweeps from her neck to her dress, a corner pinched and raised to accentuate her most perfect curtsy. Then it drops, and so too does decorum; for Dorothea's kindness, she spins once, landing with a hand held to her heart. "Now I'll carry your good wishes with me wherever I go!" (And it will keep her light; and it will keep her bright; that is the sort of person Dorothea is, or so she is learning.)

Her expression softens and warms, touching the corners of her eyes. These are the moments she keeps in her heart; these are the moments that make her strong.

"I'll do everything I can," she promises, "To protect everyone. To help us all go back home!" A laugh. "I want to see everyone smile again!" There, she holds out a hand in offering, a touch of faith, a kindling of warmth held there in secret -- to no great effect, mind, but still to a worthy one if it can offer any comfort.

"Hee hee...! Thank you. I'm really, really grateful."

[hresvelged]

 ♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪ 

by all accounts, a princess and a pauper should not have much in common—two born to different destinies, forever expected to remain stationed at their respective ends of the spectrum. in spite of that, it hadn't taken dorothea long to find the common thread between them. whether one was deemed important and the other insignificant, it was still a terribly lonely path to walk. both bound by a longing for something more than what their titles afforded them, both with bright eyes fixed on a kinder future, one that might allow them to choose their own fates rather than follow the whims of wicked men.

maybe that's why she approaches her esteemed house leader in a more pensive mood this time around, though still happy to see her. "beautiful evening, isn't it, edie?" and it is, to dorothea. the sunset is remarkable, woven with lilacs and rosy oranges, the gentle gusts of wind carrying the scents of spiced goods and the season's fragrant flora. "i was hoping it would be. i wanted to give you your presents on a perfect one."

the corners of the songstress's eyes crinkle affectionately as she takes one of the princess's hands in hers, pressing something cold and metallic into her palm. a charm bracelet, which dorothea points to delicately. her finger first hovers over a musical note, for herself, before moving to the purple bear for bernadetta, a black tome for hubert, and so on. "you may be our future emperor, but you'll always be our friend first and foremost. we'll be there with you every step of the way."

once she’s sure the gift remains secure in edelgard's hand, dorothea retrieves another present from the side. a book, bound in cherry blossom pink and topped off with a silver bow. "and this is for those long nights when you can't sleep. i'm told it's a fantastic read, full of characters and plots that stir the heart." she places the book gently onto the other's lap, but not before a small giggle escapes. "you know, one day, i really am going to write an opera about you, and it'll rival everything you've ever seen or heard. only the best for my edie."

Edelgard is no songstress, but she feels fortunate that the beat of her yet unveiled tune coincides with Dorothea's. "Hello, Dorothea. It would be a shame not to take advantage of this weather." While she prepares herself for conversation, her path curves. It is rare for her to be presented with such heartfelt gifts. Oft is she shown surface level items, plastered by fake smiles and vocals coated in falsities.

In truth, these are words she has wished to hear. It is the emperor's duty to stand by themselves; to take orders from none and herald the empire. Her locked heart presses on. Yet, Edelgard has always hoped to have others to rely on. "You hardly needed..—" She begins before cutting herself off. She is instinctually drawn towards the jewelry and its finer details. Every color and charm is perfectly attuned to someone close. "I'm.. very impressed. This detailing, it's.. Truly incredible. With this.. It's as you say. My friends will always be beside me, isn't that right?"

The princess takes a few seconds to put the bracelet on her right wrist. Hesitant as she usually is to remove her gloves, she thinks she can allow herself to just this once. They lay to her side as she shifts the token proper. It brings life to her skin. While Edelgard is more than content with what she has already received, her eyes widen as she is presented with more. A laugh leaves pink lips, curiosity sparkling in lilacs. "You really do know me well," she says as her palms fall atop the book. "I could use something like this. Once I finish reading, I'll let you know of my opinion. I can even lend you this copy and we can discuss its contents. How does that sound?" Soft of a tone it may be, her usual seriousness remains ever so prevalent.

A pink blush pours on her cheeks as the mention of opera finds itself stirring the air, breaking the eye contact to peer back into her lap. ".. Let us hope that opera continues to remain in the far future. I can't imagine a time where I won't feel flustered over it." If there is a production about her, only time will tell of its finale. She may not have said it aloud, but she would like to watch Dorothea perform such a feat. Not as the the role of the emperor, but of a friend who believed in her.

".. I need to thank you properly. I'm grateful— Not only to know you, but to call yourself a dear friend. It's evident you considered me above all else. That's.. Well, it means more than I can say." Raising her right hand, she taps the musical charm with her left index finger. "You are something truly special, Dorothea." As she lowers her hands to clutch the book into her chest, she smiles: "Hm. Perhaps a sudden question, but.. What would you say to a little trip, you and I? A brief respite away from Garreg Mach. It would please me greatly if you were my company."

[warpaway]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪

there is a slow, languorous feel to the day—a soft lull of distant birdsongs and the occasional tolling of bells, replacing the usual chatter that drifts across the monastery grounds. "busy, are we?" comes the teasing greeting as dorothea settles beside him, pausing briefly to appraise the spot where she's found them. "i've gotta say, you don't look all that comfortable, lin. guess now's as good a time as any..."

whether or not linhardt has noticed the item in question, the songstress reaches behind her back and retrieves a crinkling paper bag, carefully pulling out the gift and draping it over him: a thick, quilted sleeved blanket, complete with a padded hood that could double as a pillow in a pinch. comfortable, practical, and though it’s hardly the most fashionable thing she’s ever laid eyes on, dorothea has at least made an effort to choose something with a bit of elegance: a tasteful shade of ebony, trimmed with silver tassels and detailing.

"we'll keep this a secret from our beloved house leader, yeah?" she says, tone faintly mischievous. "can't have edie knowing i'm enabling your classroom naps." a long-suffering sigh follows suit, the drama in her voice almost palpable. "the thought of disappointing her breaks my heart. you'd protect a girl's heart, wouldn't you, lin?"

whether she’s serious or not, who’s to say? dorothea simply flashes him a broad smile, then hands him the bag for one final surprise. "there’s a chocolate pecan pie waiting for you, too. no need to share. i just thought you'd like a nice pick-me-up after your next trip to dreamland."

linhardt is only half awake when dorothea finds them. they'd been enjoying watching the clouds float lazily by and wonder how it might feel to be one of them. of anyone that could bother them, dorothea receives one of their softest reactions in the form of a lopsided smile.

her movement piques his interest, so he sits up, head lolling curiously to one side in an attempt to see what it is before she reveals it. ultimately, it doesn't matter. she drapes it over him and his hands instantly move to hold it even closer. it's plush... it's warm... his eyes are closing already.

"oh, this is lovely," they say. "and a pecan pie? i'll protect the hearts of girls everywhere for less."

his eyes open again. he wants to look at her straight in the eye as he says, "thank you very much, dorothea. this should go without saying, and it is less related to the fact that you've given me such a wonderful gift, but you really are an incredible woman. i'm happy to count you among my friends."

[berglietz]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪

good heavens. to think people did this for fun.

it had taken dorothea some considerable effort to wrap this present — to roll it onto its side, to get it into a box that would disguise its shape, and stars above, the time it'd taken just to hoist the finished product from her room and onto the walkway. (this is what she gets for buying the heaviest axe she could find. weighed down and whatnot. she'd been told it would be the perfect thing for a man intent on honing brute strength.) though the songstress tries to lug it down the steps, dorothea arnault quickly finds that she doesn’t last long. it's with a resigned sigh that she abandons the heave-ho’ing and instead locks eyes with a knight stationed off to the side. right on cue, he hurries over, eager to assist. smiling warmly, she'll graciously allow the man to take over, watching with mild interest as he lifts the cumbersome gift. there’s a fleeting moment of satisfaction when she notices how he strains under the weight — he does his best not to huff, but quickly does his face turn pink, and soon enough, she can see his chest heaving beneath the pressure of that heavy plate armor. (confirmation that she’s chosen the right challenge for her intended recipient.) with a string of coquettish thank you's and what would i have done without you's, she and the present finally arrive at the training grounds, and it's there that dorothea waves off the helpful knight, and calls out eagerly to one cyan-haired von bergliez. "caspar!" her voice rings pleasantly, words laced with a note of cheeriness. "have i caught you at a good time? i was hoping we could play a game." at that, she steps aside, revealing the large package behind her: now standing upright, wrapped in tidy cobalt-blue paper. "if you can lift this gift off the ground, then you get to keep it. from me to you."

dorothea draws close now, smile widening as she pulls a small medallion from her pocket. its leather cord hangs neatly between her fingers, and quickly does she loop it over his head, letting it fall with a satisfying clink! against his chest. "a small token of my affection for the strongest man i know. you'll do great things one day, caspykins."

"Oh, hey!"

Caspar comes at Dorothea's call just as the knight she'd arrived with steps aside, leaving her with that big blue box. He eyes it with interest.

"So all I have to do is pick it up?"

Arms wrapped around the package, it only takes that first ounce of effort to realize that the challenge was sincere. Whatever's in there, it's heavy enough to make his limbs ache with the effort to make it move.

She hadn't carried it all this way herself, did she? That man who walked in with her-- she'd gotten him to help. Dorothea could get a man to do just about anything with a smile if she needs it. Far from the first time since he's met her, Caspar wonders how she does that.

The cool slip of leather around his neck brings his attention back to her, and her words send blood rushing to his ears. A light flush of exertion darkens to a deeper shade right before her eyes.

Oh. That's how she does it.

"Come on-!" His voice squeaks up into an utterly embarrassing register. "Caspykins?? Really??"

He doesn't know how Dorothea's magic works on other strong men, but somehow Caspar always ends up wanting to bury himself in the ground when she directs it at him.

(Later, when his fingers curl around the medallion at his chest, it isn't the nickname ringing in his ears that will come back to him. If he does great things one day, he hopes he can celebrate and sing with a friend, especially one with such a beautiful voice.)

[dcggersedge]

As the festivities sweep across Garreg Mach, one member of the Black Eagles House finds herself partaking in a time-honored tradition—one that celebrates the warmth of camaraderie and the strengthening of bonds. A time to forget about the barriers of status that divide, and to embrace all that brings people together. 

(record scratch) 

“professor yunaka!!!” like a notched arrow, dorothea is suddenly in motion, propelled toward the woman with a swift, almost alarming force that might have been unsettling—if not for the wide, irrepressible grin stretching across her face. “i’ve just heard the news! is it true? i hope it is. otherwise, i just might cry.” a feigned sniffle, before she extends a gift bag triumphantly, its deep crimson coloring reminiscent of their banner. “you’re just in time for our gift exchange. this is for you!”

inside, she will find a small box of marzipan candies—delicately molded into whimsical shapes. nestled beside them is a snow globe ornament; a fragile, dainty thing containing miniature snow-dusted trees. “welcome to the black eagles, and may you have a lovely holiday~!”

An unexpected shout makes Yunaka flinch, hands suddenly grabbing a tight hold of the papers she was reading and wrinkling them. "Aw, man..." She mumbles to herself, frowning at them before placing them back on her desk. She'll try and smooth those out later.

Clearly, whatever was being yelled about was way more important if the rapid pace at which Dorothea was approaching her was any indication. At least...she thinks? The smile makes it a bit confusing.

"The news?" What news? Was something happening? Just in time for...oh! She was the news! Yunaka blinks before laughing sheepishly. "Aw, it's not really news! I just thought-"

Wait. Hold on. Pause. Gift exchange?

Yunaka lets out a mangled noise that is maybe (?) a squawk. "Wait, there's a gift exchange? Nobody told me there was a gift exchange! I haven't prepared anything to exchange!"

Dorothea hands her a bunch of little candies and a cute little ornament - geez! They had one ready for her, and she just got here? She quickly turns to put the gift down on her desk before Dorothea can see how wonky her smile looks.

"Hang on, don't leave! It's not an exchange if you're the only one giving a gift." She carefully plucks out a few of the candies and holds them out for Dorothea to take. "Please? I promise next time I'll definitely have something ready, but I'll feel awful if I don't give something back!"

[nagaficat]

As the festivities sweep across Garreg Mach, one member of the Black Eagles House finds herself partaking in a time-honored tradition—one that celebrates the warmth of camaraderie and the strengthening of bonds. A time to forget about the barriers of status that divide, and to embrace all that brings people together.

“professor deirdre~!” dorothea calls out in a sing-song voice, barely making any effort to conceal the mirth dancing in her eyes. she extends a gift bag with a subtle flourish, its deep crimson coloring reminiscent of their banner. “don’t you look stunning! i can only aspire to be half the woman you are someday.”

"today i come not as your student, but as a festive envoy~! this is for you.”

inside, she will find a small box of marzipan candies—delicately molded into whimsical shapes. nestled beside them is a snow globe ornament; a fragile, dainty thing containing miniature snow-dusted trees. “may you have a lovely holiday~!”

It is always a treat to see Dorothea. The songstress is warm, friendly, and delightful. Deirdre is more than happy to have someone so lovely counted among her students. Still, there is something about this festive season that seems to make everything even more enjoyable.

Deirdre's face lights up in the presence of her student.

Dorothea wishes she could be half the woman Deirdre is but Deirdre smiles knowing and warmly. She knows her student already is even more than that. She would have remarked on Dorothea's own loveliness but her thoughts are interrupted as a gift is offered.

She pulls out the snow globe and shakes it, watching as glittery snow swirls about and settles on the branches of a miniature forest. "I grew up in a forest like this," she muses, a faraway look in her eyes. "When I was young I wanted nothing more than to leave but now, well, I suppose I am nostalgic."

She shakes her head, dismissing the ache she has for what had once been her home. It is the present that now matters and that present includes her darling student, Dorothea.

"Ah but this is a lovely surprise! Would you come and share these sweets with me? I am sure they would be even more delicious when enjoyed with lovely company."

[twistedisciple]

that’s him. the abominable forestman who’d tried lighting her up like a beach bonfire just a few months ago.

for the first time tonight, dorothea's lips curl in displeasure at the sight of him—at his bloodied form. she takes it all in, eyes sweeping across the shredded, stained robes, the storm of bruises and gashes, and the butcher's knife in his hand.

then, both pointedly and somewhat disgruntled, she finally clears her throat to speak.

"don’t you think it’s time you found a new hobby?"

Who’s this bitch? Griss thinks, but for once doesn’t say it out loud. His face says it clear enough. Eyes flicker from golden head to golden toe and then, miraculously, recognition dawns. She hadn’t been quite so bright when last he’d seen her, but he’s pretty sure now that this had been one of the hapless students he’d chased through the woods. His expression splits open into a devilish smile and he runs a finger along the back edge of his knife, testing her with a couple of slow, toying steps closer.

“Not when there are kids like you who still haven’t learned their lesson.” However thin that lesson might have been, it had still technically been a class. Keeping one’s composure, how to deal with the unexpected, what it might feel like to narrowly escape death at the hands of a psychopath - interpretation varied but they were all equally valuable.

“The way you’re dressed, a killer would be able to see you no matter how well you tried to hide.” He stalks around her like a predator after preying, showing his teeth, warning her with the razor sharp edge of the blade in his hand. “This game’s all about trick-or-treating, but don’t you think it’s weird that everyone’s only thinking about the ‘treat?’ Hehehe, the best time for a trick would be when everyone’s got their guard down.”

Griss lunges like he’s about to stab at her, but restrains himself at the last second and redirects the knife’s point to gesture with a flick at her shoes.

“Let’s see how well you can run in all of that. I’ll even give you this lesson free of charge!”

Run.

[rafent]

cold, sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders.

it’s not particularly cold this evening — the sun still sits low on the horizon, casting long shadows and filtering its fading warmth through the trees. perhaps it comes as a surprise, then, when dorothea suddenly sheds her jacket and drapes it effortlessly over his shoulders, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

without missing a beat, she proceeds to fuss over it — and over him — smoothing the fabric into place, adjusting the collar, ensuring every wrinkle is smoothed out. she even brushes aside the hair caught beneath the material, letting it fan out just so. she'll linger for a moment longer than necessary, hands gliding over the fabric, adjusting it until it’s snug against his frame. only when a sideways glance confirms what she’s been waiting for does the songstress step back, letting out a small huff — equal parts amusement and relief.

“before you think to thank me,” she murmurs, “i should tell you this was more for my benefit than yours.” her chin jerks subtly toward a figure who now slinks away into the crowd. a small motion, but enough to make the point clear. “he'd been following me for some time. i figured the sight of such an imposing figure”—a finger taps rafal's arm—“would send him packing. seems i was right.”

“i hope you don’t mind,” dorothea adds with a light shrug, tone breezy, as if all this were just part of a casual evening out. eyes twinkle as she looks him over once more, now with genuine approval. “in any case, you’re welcome to keep it for the time being. i daresay black is your color among others.”

with that, her hand slides gently around rafal’s wrist, a light tug guiding him toward a confectionary stall down the street. her voice lifts in a more playful tone: “and for your noble assistance, shall i treat you to something sweet? i’ve heard the fried dough is to die for. something about it being served with an imported chocolate syrup of some kind...?”

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 — accepting

Across their acquaintance, unreasonable had never once come to describe Dorothea, so it was reasons that Rafal searched for. Reasons that he knew inherently to exist.

Stopped in his tracks, he allowed her fussing, compliance and curiosity commandeering the dragon's form equally. Fluttering birdlike hands setting straight this and that, attentive chartreuse gaze missing no detail, and the protracted quality of each careful yet exaggerated movement; the totality of a mysterious display that appeared to him not only purposeful, but feigned. Then at last an explanation that would tie together these all.

"Humph. Such pageantry." Rafal followed her eyes to the fringes where the stranger slipped away, then lingered there, protectiveness in every sense that remained on edge. Humans though of little consequence to dragons were worse enemies to one another; there would be no malefactor nettling one of his student flock, aside. He turned to the girl with a glower, a look not meant for her.

"If you had need for a scarecrow, Dorothea, I would have lent you a dragon's transformation to superior effect. We would clear the entirety of this space and more with none to dare bother you ever again." Genuine his offer, and perhaps a touch extreme if one should lend it any second thought. Rafal did and shrugged after a beat. "Though I suppose the matter is already dealt with. Next time, then."

Unreasonable never, but certainly generous. In the midst of removing the jacket and folding it for return, he felt himself tugged forward - a single earful of her proposal and his brightened expression was not to any imagination. In regards to said noble assistance, he had done little more than stand around and be dressed. Therefore—

"If you should insist so generously on a reward, I will not be so lacking in manner as to refuse." A reward for so little work, however? Unacceptable. Of course, Rafal would make himself worthy of it. ". . .And if you should care for a second performance, you need only say the word. I would not be opposed to being hand fed."

[grimatruth]

[ TOUCH UP ] "we black eagles ought to look after each other, hm?" dorothea grins, her eyes sparkling as she beckons him closer, holding out a necklace of flowers. bright and merry, petals in varying shades of pink and red seem to catch the light with every movement. "i can't let you walk around without some sort of festive touch! so you’ll have to excuse my forwardness."

her gaze gleams playfully as she steps closer, fingers brushing lightly against his collar as she drapes the necklace over his head, ensuring it hangs just perfectly around his neck.

"see? much better! now you’ll really turn heads," she says with a sly smile, her eyes lingering on him just a moment longer than necessary. "how cute! i wouldn’t be surprised if you swept your match right off their feet!"

having taken a back seat during the previous festivities of the ball, morgan thought to be more proactive this time. though the lad wasn't particularly interested in romance, and love was far from his area of studied expertise... he was excited. perhaps it was the arrangement of flowers, red, white, and pink... or the flashy decorations and hearts all around. the hard work put into this was clear, and something about it inspired confidence in those participating.

of course, having said that, morgan was still tucked securely inside the same worn cloak he always wore. given his unfamiliarity with the standards of such an event, he'd thought casual would be best. instead, people were dressed up much like the ball, hair slicked back or braided with love. the tactician couldn't help but feel slightly out of place, even despite his best efforts to push forward. alas, a smile and a confident stride should be more than enough to mask his ignorance... wait, how did one do that again?

shoulders back, legs far forward... damn, how did that green haired student do it so easily? a smile will just have to do, practicing something like this while everyone was watching was probably not a good idea...

as the lad adjusted his shoulders and his limbs, a young lady seemed to have her eyes trained on him. as she made her approach, morgan straightened up in anticipation of what was likely a well deserved jesting. up close, though, she can easily be recognized as dorothea of the black eagles class. though they'd never spoken personally, the tactician could recall her praise being sung out through the halls of the monastery.

"ah, uh... for me?" as easily as the lad's words were stumbled over, the necklace of flowers adorned his features. he looked down at it for a great several seconds, taking in all it's details. something so bright dared not decorate him, and yet there it sat thanks to the consideration of a classmate... or, a friend? a blush blazed across his cheeks, reaching even his ears. "r-right, better..." to receive the concern of another was... quite nice.

wide eyes switched between the necklace, and the face of a newfound savior in the crowd of people. had she sensed his unease, or was it simply in her nature to reach a hand out to others? dorothea was quite nice... "t-thank you, uh... dorothea. i think i can stand a bit taller now thanks to you." what a odd feeling, something far beyond the kind of flustered stammering he'd produced before. was this was the effect divinity had on a mere mortal?

[nobilisseoblige]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪

spite moves mountains. spite fells kingdoms. spite is the reason dorothea is up at this hour, adding the finishing touches to this package. (it is spite... right?) a frown pulls at her lips as she ponders it silently. (yes, she concludes. it’s exactly that, and no other reason. not even the holiday spirit can undo a storied past.)

the thought of what ferdinand von aegir might be planning in the confines of his own room—wearing that all-too-cheery expression of his and humming whatever merry tune—is enough to make anyone’s eye twitch. allowing him to saunter in with a present, puffed up like a proud peacock, would be unbearable. (and to leave her in his debt? after everything? no. dorothea arnault would not grant him the satisfaction.) she would not allow herself to be taken in by his over-the-top performances and shallow gestures of chivalry, and she most certainly would not forget how differently she was treated now, compared to their first meeting all those years ago. (how easily men changed their minds.)

his gift comes in the form of a box wrapped in ivory paper with gold floral patterning, tied together with metallic string. a matching envelope sits tucked beneath to keep it in place. when he opens it, he’ll find a handsome pair of men’s riding boots—made from rich umber leather, with golden buckles that are just coming into fashion. purchased from a renowned shoemaker, and without burning a hole in her pocket, for who would’ve guessed that opera fans could be found in every corner of the world? and in the envelope, a signed copy of an original poster from mittlefrank’s production of The Storm of the Heart, with a personalized note. (manuela had always been generous that way.)

in the end, dorothea will march to his side, holding out the box expectantly, that expression of hers unreadable. “ferdie. this is for you.” with that, the songstress takes her leave with a simple “goodbye,” not allowing for any prolonged exchange as she hurries down the decorated corridor.

he was music as he was clouds as he was the young man meant to move mountains and kingdoms. he laced his words with smiles and curled brows, and the snow-dappled hour was bewitched by him, in turn. Ferdinand Von Aegir was a story and a half, consumed by the spirit of yuletide until it blinded him. (and so pleased was he, to be blinded.) it had happened that in his quest to empower his fellow Black Eagles with wrapped gifts, Dorothea had accepted shouldering half of his labors. though, from what he understood, she wasn't faring very well with this partnership of convenience. why had she willingly chosen this path if she toiled, so?

regardless, he would not question it. not to her face, after all. he was just pleased she would carry on as she always has, shouldering tasks with him while they soldiered away together. time would march forward, and he appreciated that much of it was spent in her company. as much as she abhored him, she also seemed to stomach his companionship more often than naught. perhaps one day, he would discover what it was that she hated about him—what sort of sin was he supposed to bear? he hadn't a clue, and the only one she would provide involved buzzing and stripes and motion-sickness.

however, that was no matter to him. lost in his own reverie, he had finished wrapping the last of his half of the gifts, arranging fabric flowers by birthday and tying tinsel to small treat bags. he had all their names scrawled out neatly by hand, and knotted every bow with an attentiveness that would make even flowers shy. not an ounce of exhaustion had weighted down on him, since he felt the exhilaration of finishing a project so fulfilling that it could keep him up at night.

to that effect, he walked. he took to the snow and walked, trying to calm his excitement down enough to sleep for the evening. the snow piled high, snowflakes catching on his hair and kissing him cold. the apples of his cheeks glowed in the dark, and he breathed gentle puffs of air until they disappeared, taking his nerves with him. right. right. it was time to sleep now. he could find it in himself to wait for the morrow.

as he returned, chilled to perfection, he found himself staring down a Miss Dorothea Arnault, in all her dissatisfied glory. she was unreadable, her voice placid, as she afforded him such kindness. he was not even halfway through a grin, fingers curling around the corners of the box, before she retreated icily.

"Dorothea!" he called out. but she wished not to hear him. "thank you! I have a gift for yo—"

like a disappearing act, she vanished around the corner, and he was left to wait for the morrow. sighing, raked a confused hand through his hair. "what am I going to do about her…?" he muttered to himself.

shaking off the frigid air, he decided to peel away the wrapping paper delicately, as though to preserve her handiwork. "oh." he laughed fondly through his nose, pink from the chill. out came the boots and the poster, which he fondly paraded about in the lobby all by his lonesome. to himself, he donned the boots—a perfect fit. and to himself, he danced about on the balls of his feet with Professor Manuela's poster clutched between both hands.

and to himself, he is alone. unchanged. but happy.

[hermidetta]

there has been, for as long as they've known each other, a series of unspoken rules: to have each other's backs, to lift one another up, and to share in the heartbreaks wrought by the shards of girlhood that left them scarred. a past not so easily escapable for either of them — not with the constant reminders found at their doorsteps and in their reflections. yet, there is some solace, dorothea hopes, in knowing the other is but a door away should those dark and terrible memories awaken.

today will only be marked by good ones, if she has any say in the matter. so, preparations begin at dawn, and only the birds and the occasional knight catch sight of one lone songstress flitting from her room and back, arms full with baskets and rolls of fabric one moment, empty the next. the cycle repeats once more. boxes and trinkets, packages of various shapes and sizes, and to the rare passerby, she offers no explanation beyond a simple smile in greeting.

it's a special day.

there is no booting the girl of the hour from her room when the time comes. once let in, dorothea simply instructs bernadetta (and mr. bearkley) to close their eyes. "it'll be worth it," she promises. "i'll be quick." and so, the transformation begins. festive fabrics — soft sheens of lilacs and baby blues — are draped across the walls. three new stuffed animals are placed on her desk, seated around a small cake decorated with pastel-colored sprigs of flowers. a new mannequin, assembled and shoved into the corner with some effort, is placed next to where that trusty sewing kit is stowed.

finally, she carefully places the last gift in her friend's hands: a thick, leather-bound journal with the following inscription carefully etched into its cover in cursive:

happy birthday to my bern. your stories will take the world by storm one day.

"you can open your eyes now," she says, heart full and nearly bursting. "i decided to bring the party to you. i hope that's okay." dorothea sinks next to her on the bed and gently bumps the other's shoulder with her own. "happy birthday, bern-bear. i may have accidentally scuffed your floorboards... but you'll find it in your heart to forgive me, right?"

⠀ ⚘ birthdaydetta 2k24 ♡ ⠀

here is what he grumbles, already disgruntled by the gender, when they lift his newborn from the glowing mechanism: "a minor crest. i suppose it's better than nothing."

bernadetta cannot remember the last time she had been afforded a birthday party. it is understandable. her mother has toiled away in the capital for as bernadetta can remember, but every year she sends a letter that should, with luck, make it to her daughter within that same week.

her father usually buys himself a gift. a teaset for her twelfth that began all her training. an itchy dress and veil for her sixteenth that obscured her face with tulle because tulle was the socially acceptable alternative to a bag. nobody would want her without a bag.

"at least you're young enough to make up for your face, but even that's got a shelf life. you'd better shape up quick to be a desirable, obedient wife. there's a neighboring duke wants to replace his late one before his fiftieth birthday. you'll meet in a month's time."

(the story goes that this lesser duke saw a bare ankle and died of cardiac arrest. whatever the case, bernadetta had breathed the biggest sigh of relief. but there were more after him, of course. always more. somehow the country had no shortage of men who needed women while those men framed it the other way around.)

bernadetta has never loved herself enough to craft a real future in her head. she fears pain, but little else ought be expected from any sensible human, and in terms of the long term she would much rather vanish. she is unlike dorothea in countless ways—including here—that dorothea would elevate bernadetta in regardless.

all including here. because bernadetta opens her eyes to a future she should have anticipated as a girl, a future she should have believed to be within reach. bernadetta opens her eyes to dorothea. to sweets, to decorations, to gifts. to merriment, as if her having been born was ever worth celebration.

"dorothea..."

dorothea makes her want to believe again. in that moment her voice is tiny, wobbly, and so very afraid. afraid of her parents. afraid of the people who should have sent their wishes first. because what if they try to hurt you? bernadetta had asked dorothea once upon a time. what if they ever tried to harm her best friend now like her first one then?

the first few teardrops splash onto the leather cover, just short of the inscription. she startles and jolts to dab the spot with her sleeve, timid gasp torn from trembling lips.

"i-i'm okay!"  bernadetta blurts out her hasty disclaimer before dorothea can fret too much.  "i'm okay! it's— it's not you. or this. i like all of this. thank you for all of this! it's..."

with all of the care in the world, bernadetta sets aside the journal. she tries not to let her watery gaze catch again on the mannequin, or the cake, or the stuffies before she turns to dorothea and practically tackles her in an embrace.

"i'm happy,"  she weeps into dorothea's shoulder. in a smaller hiccup she echoes the words as if she cannot believe the veracity of them. i'm happy.

is this allowed? she is happy without permission. it is terrifying, monumental and exhilarating all at once—just like what she shares with dorothea.

bernadetta's arms tighten around her. a writer is supposed to weave great words, but what to say that could ever be enough? thank you? i love you? the floorboards aren't mine, anyway? it's always okay, you always make me feel okay?

as they sit together in that small, decorated room, mourning girlhood, celebrating each other, bernadetta only hopes her tight hug could convey all of it and more. to look into her heart and find room for forgiveness would be to cut it open and evict dorothea herself from it.

[heavy-draw]

@encantresse

"Well... It's about time you hit something. Just next time, aim for the target, yeah?"

[hresvelged]

🎄 a simple delight, sitting here with the one she trusts so irrevocably. curled beside the other, feet tucked neatly beneath her, dorothea hums along to whatever festive tune drifts through the background. in her hands, a crumpled paper creation shifts as she fumbles with it, folding one marked corner, then the next, until it becomes something she can slip her fingers into and manipulate with ease.

"ta daaaa~!" she exclaims once it’s done, turning toward edelgard and holding it out proudly for her to inspect. "it’s a fortune teller! used to be all the rage among the girls at the opera. they'd use it to predict each other’s futures—whether they’d marry, find fame or wealth, that sort of thing. here, you try. "

she lets out a soft giggle and leans in to press a quick kiss to edelgard’s cheek before straightening up again. "of course, none of it is real. i like to think we can choose our own futures. or at least, i hope so. the alternative thought is... a bit daunting."

Edelgard falls into the homeliness that is Dorothea as her head leans to weigh against her shoulder; legs mimicking and fingers laying open against her sides. She cannot quite say how long exactly the world feels itself frozen, but she yearns for it to remain dormant just a second longer. Her icy exterior reaches for flames of warmth.

As she lifts herself to hoist irises towards the creation, she stares into the object more intense than intended. It's a captivating concept, even if she can't claim to understand. The thoughts pull themselves away from her as if drawn to the seat of a theatre— She does not bring the spotlight onto her, but on the songstress who so kindly sits nearby. Edelgard never tires of these moments of solitude no matter how brief. Here, the memories linger strong.

"Oh? How fascinating. I've never seen anything like that before. I can understand the appeal, even if I may have never thought of it myself," she says softly. Digits once trailing her sides move to tap the spot kissed only moments ago. A trail of glittering pink sits upon the face of a girl who so oft dons neutrality and bluntness. She routinely laments how little she got to see of the opera as a child, but she has hopes of rectifying this.

She smiles. "The future will always be ours to make." The budding emperor fixes her posture to sit upright, refusing to look anywhere but at Dorothea. These words are for her alone— For her to hear and understand. "I will fight for that again and again. No matter what. Promise me you'll be there to see it all."

As she finishes her speech, the unconsciously uplifted shoulders find themselves lowering. "This world we speak of is fast approaching. I'm ready for it, but at times.." A rough pause, cutting herself off. "Well, I could use more moments like this."

"In the meantime, though.." Edelgard allows herself to lean back, stifling a laugh with her knuckles. "What does that fortune teller have in store for me? I'd like to see. I hope it's promising."

[stellalimned]

everything dorothea knows about them can be counted on one hand: one - they'd been paired with professor laslow during the mission, and two - they'd assisted her with the first bandit attack.

she struck first. they followed with the killing blow, leaving her somewhat relieved to have avoided it altogether.

"i never got the chance to thank you for your help," the songstress starts tentatively, drawing closer so their conversation remains private. "you stepped in before things could get worse for us. i'd have done what was necessary, of course, but—"

taking a life never becomes any less horrifying.

her throat clears suddenly.

"anyway, i thought i should introduce myself. we're allies, after all. i'm dorothea."

The Black Eagle student introduces herself, thanking me for my assistance during the mission. I know little about her save that she has a propensity for magic as befitting her quintessence that sparkles and gleams in a way that draws attention to itself for those who can sense such things. She also has a melodious voice much like the Lady Ninian, which compliments her fine features. I recall seeing her in the magic classes one level up from mine; she is a formidable mage, one from whom allyship could potentially be useful.

"My name is Limstella," I respond. "Your attacker turned on me, and I defended myself in response. That is why I was required to intervene." I pause, then continue. "You are skilled and powerful. It would be pointless to allow such excellent quintessence to be extinguished. If you wish to be allies, I would ask that we study together when we have the spare time for it. I am led to believe you are a mage of high caliber, and it would be beneficial for me to learn from mages who have reached a level higher than me. Should you need something from me, ask and I will endeavor to fulfill your wishes. But keep in mind that my loyalty is first and foremost to Young Master Nils, as I have been inherited by him to be his servant, and his orders take first priority."