#encantresse

[wolfhednn]

CLOSE TO AN HOUR PASSES BEFORE THEY STOP. half out of an abundance of caution, half because it'd taken that long before the stallion calmed enough to stop tearing through adrestia's borderlands in a panic. by the time the breakneck pace begins to slow, allowing him to finally lift his head and take the chance to assess more of their surroundings, he's felt like he's close to his limit, breathing hard, lungs aflame just from trying to hang on, blood thrumming in his ears and pounding behind his temples.

none of it helps to improve the state of his injuries. when they dismount, he narrowly keeps from swaying, the hard, even ground feeling false and fragile under his feet, the world still hurtling in fast motion. nevertheless, years of training take over, and he ties up the skittish horse nearby on muscle memory and readies himself for a walk of the perimeter, looking for any signs of potential danger. with luck, they'd left their pursuers far behind. . . though when he thinks again about how easily they'd closed in without warning, he can't help but wonder if they might have just chased them right where they wanted them instead.

whatever the case, they've found momentary rest, and thankfully there isn't much to see ; a quick check confirms nothing but rock and shortgrass alongside faded signs of a wagon that might've come by some days earlier. he's too winded to refuse when dorothea approaches with strips of cloth and a damp patch, only wordlessly accepting both and lowering himself onto a nearby boulder, wounded leg in question stretched out before him.

"sure. that helps," is all the affirmation her chattering gets, but for now at least he doesn't mind ; it gives him something to focus on. the feeling of shock and blood loss is hardly unfamiliar, and he knows its boundaries and potential perils like his own sword belt. it'd take more than a stab and some scrapes to put him down, but that didn't mean he could be careless. "do you have water?"

he cleans at the wound lightly with the patch, clearing clotted blood and dead skin, but finds that the makeshift fabric soaks through within seconds. some quick work with his blade and shirt sleeve addresses this easily, and before long, strips of ruddy white cloth dyed varying reds sit in a clump next to him. the bandaging and the tourniquet don't take more than the work of his hands, so his thoughts go back to mention of a trap ; he frowns. "we shouldn't go," he says firmly, decisively, looking back over to her now that his head's stopped feeling so light. "the assassin i faced——she mentioned your name. said," expression twists darker here, recalling her succulent hiss in his ear, "lord ione's thought about you for years."

steady gaze, and one brow arches curiously. "and earlier, you said you knew him. why's he so interested in you?" enough to send a group of assassins to stage a kidnapping, if that's what this was all about.

　tailor of roses and their thorns.

　　　　　　　　　 　　❪　m. recovery　/　sword point　❫

[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?"

[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."

[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."

[dcggersedge]

there she is! the starry-eyed, star-adorned professor one black eagle’s been meaning to talk to. and what better night than this one, with the ambiance of glowing lights and phantom figures in their midst, to make a memorable introduction?

“professor!” here comes the sun, gilded in that morning gold, poised to strike the appropriate pose—a slight curtsey, head bowed respectfully—before she looks up with a beam.

“to think that we've been passing ships in the night for who knows how long! a proper introduction's been long overdue.” a hand instinctively raises to comb through her locks, on instinct, to ensure she presents a most impressionable image. “i’ve heard so much about you! i’m dorothea.”

She doesn't react, at first. There's lots of professors here. The title could go to anyone, and she hasn't spotted any of her Blue Lion students just yet. Yunaka only realizes that it's her that's being called when a flash of gold enters her vision, making her flinch and turn.

Woah.

"Holy- that costume is amazing!" No way that's just for something like this! Something that elaborate belongs on the stage, in some kind of grand performance! The troupe could've never afforded something like this, it would've been too likely to get damaged while they traveled. "Is it from something? Did you make it, or rent it? What other costumes are there- oop."

Yunaka cuts herself off with a little laugh. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't expect to see someone pulling out all the stops." Passing ships? Were they? Yunaka's seen her around a few times, sure, but was this student really that eager to meet her? Huh.

"Nice to meet you too! The name's Yunaka. And...uh...." She laughs nervously. "What was it that you heard about me, exactly?"

[heavy-draw]

@encantresse

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

[berglietz]

"caspar! you made it back!" it's no surprise to see him—she knows he's got more lives than a cat—but still, a familiar face lifts her spirits in a way nothing else could. )

she rushes over, giving his arm a playful squeeze. "how about it? the black eagles, making it to the very end! i hope edie's proud."

dorothea's smile softens, accompanied by a faint flicker of concern. the hand on his arm lingers for just a moment longer before she lets it fall to her side. "hey, no matter what happens this week...take care of yourself, okay? and bern, too. look out for each other if you can."

"'Course I did! I can take whatever these islands throw at me!"

Initially he puffs up at Dorothea's touch in a display of pride. When he feels her shift, though, he too softens to a more natural posture.

"Bernadetta made it this far, didn't she? She's way stronger than she seems." His voice grows slightly quieter, but no less assured. "I'll look out for her though. Of course I will."

A pause, and then he lifts back up into that prideful stance. Chin up, shoulders squared, grin bright and toothy. "Just promise you won't go easy on us. We're all Eagles, but for now you should have a little Weasel pride too, right?"

[verseandrhyme]

piano, sender teaches receiver how to play the piano.

on the bench, dorothea shifts just enough to make space for mitama.

gently, she takes her friend's hand, adjusting the fingers before placing them over the correct keys. “my expertise lies more in singing than in playing,” she says brightly. “but i’ve picked up a few things along the way—some tricks, some stories. the latter i’ll save for another time.” one of mitama’s fingers is pressed down onto a key, producing a soft, clear note.

“it’s not about hitting the right note every single time. instead, focus on finding the feel of it. get comfortable with the rhythm.”

dorothea hums the melody, letting the sound float between them for a moment. then, she reaches over to the lower keys, her left hand dancing over the black and white with practiced ease. she plays the sequence again, slow and deliberate, offering it as both a demonstration and encouragement.

“your turn now. if you start to feel frustrated, we can always take a break. music is meant to be enjoyed, after all. if you force it—”

a flicker of something unspoken crosses her features. the songstress pauses, her gaze momentarily drifting as if lost in thought.

“—it becomes something of a performative chore.”

a long exhale. she meets mitama’s eyes once more, and this time, dorothea flashes another smile. "go on, then. the poetess might just surprise us both."

ask meme | accepting!

Her caretakers had made it plain to her from a very young age. Perhaps music is not where your talents lie... A book of poetry had been pushed into her hands, and that was that of the discussion.

And yet, even still, she did always find herself longing to be able to recreate that melody her mother had sung to her.

Dorothea's hands are soft. Mitama carefully notes the position she guides her own hands into. She shifts a bit to settle comfortably, always hovering her fingertips just above the keys. The piano is an imposing instrument. If she should play the wrong note, will it echo for all to hear her failure?

It is hard to think so, when Dorothea's hands guide hers gently. The note that her fingers ply from the piano is singular, but beautiful. Clear and steady. Her instruction makes it all sound so easy, as though it is not a craft people spend their lifetime honing.

As if a girl who cannot even sing her mother's song can make anything worth listening to.

When Dorothea's hands pull away, Mitama's gaze follows to watch as she lays claim over her own section of the instrument. The melody she plays is lower, almost somber, but still beautiful. The poet finds her gaze shifting from hands to face. Does the other student know, she wonders, how her face changes when she concentrates?

A flicker of something then. She has seen that before. The expression Asugi makes when he speaks of his future. The expression Rhajat makes when she speaks of her father. It is gone again before Mitama can pin it down to examine it. She meets Dorothea's gaze and lovely smile and laughs, softly.

Listen a moment / in the chords of melody / can you hear my heart?

Her fingers press the keys slowly. The first few notes fill the air hesitantly. Her fingers shift, and the next notes come slower than they should. Still, she presses. Offbeat, out of time, but the notes still come. The music still comes.

It is not a song. But Mitama thinks it sounds lovely.

[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."

[loyaldeserter]

✧ punt kick: a quiet jolt of recognition that it's time to become a better version of yourself, sensing that all the strategies that brought you this far are no longer working.

Heath has carried a feeling of unease about certain orders for some time, now. Vaida is smart, and knows how to execute them in a way that avoids betraying the Raiders' conviction, but she too has surely felt the pressure building up if Heath has.

Today, the orders are unmistakable.

"A sham..." Belminade watches the horizon, images of the villagers surely flashing through his head. Titan stands to alert, the gray wyvern clearly feeling his rider's unease. "General Andros set this up. The good for nothing..."

"We can't go through with it!" Isaac, always the loudest, bleats. Dione shuffles beside him, her ruby scales glinting in the sunlight. "They're unarmed, they're innocent! Can't we just say what the general did? He's clearly lying!"

"Fools!" Vaida barks, looming over them. Umbriel mirrors her, as always. "That's what he's counting on. It's our word versus his--and he outranks even I."

"The king would prefer to believe him, anyway." Lachius' soft voice carries what everyone surely is thinking, but not even the commander dares say. Though, at this point, it's unmistakable.

"Isaac is right, though. In that we can't do it." Heath is surprised to hear his own voice, but he knows he'll never forgive himself if he remains silent. He rubs Hyperion's neck in a soothing motion, swallowing down the bile that rises in his throat.

"Of course not. Who do you take me for?" Vaida snarls, and a wave of relief washes over Heath. He did not doubt her, he didn't, but just hearing his commander agree and his wingmates nod along fills him with a strong pride. "We've been a thorn in his side for a long time. Damned coward. He means to dispose of us one way or another, and the jaws of this trap have already begun to close."

She mounts Umbriel, raising her spear high to the air.

"If any of you want to comply with orders, speak now, so I can make sure you forever hold your peace!"

Isaac cheers, waving his hand in the air. One by one, the rest of Vaida's Raiders join him, Heath first among them. Bern, land of his birth, has suffered and inflicted suffering upon its citizens for too long. He will not be complicit, even if it means death.

--

(Sometimes, he wishes it had.)

[nabataprophet]

a game, a game! the perfect chance to meet new faces and forge bonds from the ground up. there's strategy in casting a wide net, so to speak, but even so, dorothea has to admit—a little witch had long caught her eye, looking as darling as she did in that outfit of hers.

"i've never seen anyone pull off purple as well as you do! dare i say, i'm almost envious."

a smile as bold as the shade she dons herself. "i figured now would be the perfect time to introduce myself. we're from the same house, yet somehow, we haven't had the chance to talk before. so, i thought, ‘why not change that tonight?’ "

"i'm dorothea. "

rejection is always a risk—both in games and in life. it’s only natural if her classmate turns her down; after all, she’s just a stranger, and the girl might prefer the company of familiar friends.

but tonight, there’s no room for hesitation. "so, what do you say? would you like to join me? i've never been trick-or-treating before, but i have a feeling i'll enjoy it with good company."

then, a wink. " don't ask me why, but i’ve got a hunch you're just that."

Sophia pulls the brim of her hat low over her face at the sudden compliment. She wasn't much the type to dress up, so it's not as though often she received many comments on her appearance other than observations about the length of her hair.

(It's quite long, she's aware, but she can't bring herself to cut it.)

"Oh... I... thank you..."

The girl— Dorothea's—other comment is true. They are both Black Eagles and both have a focus in Reason magic, at that. That is where the similarities end, though. Warm embers and sparks leap from Dorothea's fingers whereas Sophia is beloved by the cold and swirling darkness. The other girl flits around like a songbird, sharing her song with all who will listen, while Sophia quietly and carefully draws lines in the sand to give herself space.

Purple suits her in a much different way than gold suits Dorothea.

"I... have also never been... trick-or-treating," she admits hesitantly. "I, um... am from a remote village, so..."

But as a child of the desert, she'd always been awfully fond of the Sun.

"My name... is Sophia. I don't know... if I am good company, but if you'll have me..."

[nobilisseoblige]

🎄 there'd been whispers backstage about a "last-minute addition," but dorothea hadn't quite caught on to what that meant. not with the clock ticking down, not with her own cue to think about, and certainly not when the dress rehearsal was already running this late.

and so she finds herself rushing onto the stage, the hem of her dress carefully lifted so it won't drag or trip her up as she moves, and the songstress takes her rightful place, preparing for the scene ahead.

but wouldn't you know it? standing there, right in front of her, is the last person she expects to see in this holiday production.

her breath catches for a split second. just enough of a falter to make her feel unbalanced, and it’s only worsened when she hears the musical cue that signals the start. instinctively, she mutters under her breath—so softly that only one particular classmate can hear:

"so you’re following me now, are you?"

oh, how he worked on borrowed lungs, the way she walked out on stage that night. there was a hollowed out wind between his lips as her heels clicked over, parsing out the seconds he had left before he was lodged between her teeth. being chewed out was never a brave thing, but he learned not to take it all to heart. end him or save him, it didn't matter, because this was not violence, and she was not a judge. even now, as the curtain opened and the world collapsed before his feet, he trusted her to outlive this stage. to elevate it. like she was aching by the roots to become the art she dedicated herself to. like a spray of stars, she gathered up her skirts as the ruffles and seafoam spilled from her hands. there was open-heart surgery, and then there was this. working alongside someone whose memory he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, would outlive them all.

under his breath, he muttered back to her. "do you think me so low?" he wished he could say ("you know me better than that. you do.") but he feared she'd never want to know him, period. it's not the answer he feared, but the after. the 'nothing,' the way she acted like their time together was like air turned inside-out. he had no weight to him, like he had undressed from his flesh into bone. "they needed someone to stand in." he whispered, even-toned. it wasn't brave, but it was honest. "just you watch, Dorothea."

he offered out an open palm to her, as the cast, adorned with decadent ballroom dress, came out spinning. hand in hand in hand. their skirts and coattails circled the stage, as an ensemble of strings enhanced the main cellist's part and a melody erupted in color. the painted backdrops illuminated their holiday 'banquet,' as a prop chandelier glittered like snow drops and crystal tears. (he pretended like he didn't notice the mistletoe hanging from it.) sliding his palms into hers, with the balls of his wrists meeting hers with a stroke of friction, he began to sing.

he sung of dust and time and fingertips. of dragonflies and snapdragons. his voice wandered in a reverie that knew of god, and the missing parts of childhood. taking to his heels, he tenderly guided her around in torrents of skirt spins, singing about sunsets and the great pink beyond. he sung to her about angels.

the light went out. it's pitch black.

when the light came back on, everyone was dusted in chalk.

he drifted her along, ankles soaring, smiling as though he hadn't noticed the ghosts in the room. (he sung to her about angels.)

the stagehands pushed and pulled along backdrops, as they danced through holiday after holiday. year after year. the birds sweetened their song. and as the cello took turns to bloom as it burned, the chalk gradually fell away the longer they danced.

in the final number, with all the color returned to his face, he felt her fingers brush against his, and he laughed. it wasn't part of the script, but he laughed. there was a glean of flesh on glove, fingers splayed, tips touching. pulling her hand close, he grazed her knuckles with his lips. and laughed.

the light went out. and when it came back on, he disappeared without a trace.

(he sung to her about angels.)

[hresvelged]

an adoring kiss because the other is rambling (platonic or au up to you!)

Edelgard can feel the frustration etching itself on her front; rather than allowing it to settle, she deems it best to merely reiterate what's on her mind. She has no qualms with telling Dorothea— She always has been a good listener. That, and she knows she cannot mask what is on her mind around the other.

"This look on my face?" A finger strolls up to the wrinkles of her forehead in an attempt to smooth them, only proving a silly move more than anything. Nonetheless, she shrugs off the action: "There is a reason. I sought the council of a minor noble within the Empire recently, but he only desired to request further land. Honestly.. Instead of acquiring more, is it not more prudent to improve that which you already have?"

The words pour out of her mouth so effortlessly and without much thought. It is easy for her to speak her rebuttals against the current state this land is in, but it proves even more eager to speak around those her eagle wings desire to soar with. Edelgard brings a palm to her temple, nursing away an impending headache. "What's more, this very same man went to my father after failing to acquire what he sought from me. He is the emperor, of course, and yet.." She sighs as one leg crosses over the other, sights lowering.

"Not only that, but there is also..—" What she feels next is the turn of her head, the prompt to stop speaking. The princess's sea of words parts with her lips, vanquishing her spiel about nobility. Pink sparkles across her face as she takes the queue to cease her impending story. It is not so relevant, perhaps— These articulations always follow the same path. That, such things must be ceased. Nonchalantly does she bring a hand atop Dorothea's shoulder, keeping herself still instinctively.

After a moment, the waves that are the Imperial Princess and her songstress part ways. She looks left, then right. Straight ahead with a tiny laugh to swell away the shine across her cheeks. "I.. was speaking far too much."

[realmsprotector]

dorothea recalls the knight well—tall, striking, and every inch the paragon of chivalry. his presence, last they met, had been as poised as it was commanding, and on that special day, he had presented her with bountiful bouquets of the most delicate flowers—a gesture he claimed was borne from the generosity of his fellow knight-in-arms. it's only fair she return the kindness. for no act of generosity, no matter how small, ought to be forgotten.

"sir geoffrey~!" comes the call, her voice light with a trace of amusement. she promptly lowers herself into a small curtsey, her smile warm and knowing. "a little birdie told me that today's your special day, and i couldn’t bear the thought of letting it pass without paying my respects."

with a gentle flourish, she presents the bouquet. "if you're not overtaken by admirers today, i was wondering if you'd join me for tea. i’ve always believed that birthdays are best spent with good company."

He immediately turned when he heard his name, pausing in his tracks, easily recognizing the owner of such a melodious voice (oh he was starting to think the same way his fellow knights were, how terribly influencable he was when surrounded by fans-).

"Miss Dorothea." He answered her curtsey with a bow of his own, a polite smile mirroring hers, surprised by her visiting him but not showing it, why would a student want with a knight in the middle of the day? Were lessons finished? Did she perhaps need his help?

Oh, his birthday, indeed it was today... Apparently people knew that better than himself, he kind of lost track of time since he joined the Academy. He couldn't help himself but smile again at both her words and the bouquet.

"It would be my honour to join you, I actually just finished patrolling and was going to take a break, your timing was impeccable." He still was wondering if she wasn't supposed to do something else, anything else, than spending her precious free time with him- But, as a Knight, his duty was to accompany the students whenever they needed him, so he guessed he could accept the invitation, just this once.

Accepting the bouquet, he carefully put it in the crook of an arm, gently smiling at it, he couldn't remember the last time anyone gifted him anything of the sort. The last gift Lucia gave him was a whetstone and it was merely a joke from years ago-

Turning to the young lady at his side, he offered her his free elbow to her. "Shall we? It is unbecoming of a knight to ask such, but, could you lead the way? I'm still a little lost when I walk paths outside of my usual patrols, haha."

[rafent]

now there's someone she recognizes.

dorothea stands in the doorway, watching carefully as the scene before her unfolds. she moves only when she's certain of where rafal's situated himself, promptly picking up her luggage — she might've overpacked for this — and setting it down on the bed to his immediate left.

claimed.

"i should count myself so lucky to be placed with the most stylish man on the island." the songstress turns, revealing bright eyes that flash warmly. with a grin, she now takes a seat herself, crossing her legs and propping her chin on a well-placed hand. "i guess it's true what they say — like attracts like. i have a hunch that we'll become fast friends." a wink. "...unless of course, you'd already consider us such? i wouldn't protest."

A room split in four quadrants and one to be claimed as his. But which? If there was notice of the watchful presence hovering at the door, there was no acknowledgement of it, second in priority to the dragon's short lived dilemma. First to come and so first of choice, the privilege led to his quick entitlement over a bed. Any bed serviceable to one who had camped beneath the stars and stretched upon stone and soil as the softest sheets he knew. Similarly, Dorothea's choice was just as quickly made across mere seconds of deliberation. Almost curious that.

"An eye for style and a knack for words. As always, Dorothea, both are well appreciated." His compliment reflected to her just the same in lieu of greeting. But more importantly, his welcome was unfeigned. Rafal knew that he would lose little in sanity by such a sensible neighbor - a favorable outcome for all involved. Woe to the weary dragon saddled with noisy roommates, and woe to those roommates borne as victims to the terrifying consequences.

"Friends?"

But in the midst of unloading luggage, his hands stilled as a single word gave him cause. Friend; a novelty even two thousand years into his existence, scarcely acknowledged, and even scarcer termed with her degree of confidence. However, if that was what Dorothea truly wished to be, he imagined it would be less cordial to refuse. And if one were to consider the value of said 'friends' across so unknown a circumstance, teeming with mysterious challenges and presumed rivals. . .

Unpacking motions resumed: "Such a label leaves your mouth, not mine. But if friends is what you aspire to be, I suppose I would not be opposed to the idea." Sincere and scheming; a true snake may find trouble in the balance, honoring one over other, but a dragon could be both. That he made clear, cool and steady. Nonchalant. "Recreation or otherwise, it would be wise to remain on guard. Should anything trouble you, let it be known that I am here. As a friend."