#encantresse

[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?"

[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."

[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..."

[renaisguy]

[ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 ] ― sender paints a picture onto part of receiver’s body ( specify what & where )

dorothea's eyes narrow in concentration as she holds his hand, carefully dragging a small brush across the back of it. a few paint strokes in, she looks up, her mouth twisting uncertainly. “huh. i was going for a daffodil, but…” it hardly looks like it. “think you can give me a few pointers?”

"It's a good start." Forde smiles at the flower on his hand. "Usually when I'm painting, I have the subject in front of me, so doing this from memory, as a first attempt... you've done well."

Forde is reminded of when he started drawing. However rough or indecipherable his charcoal sketches were, his mother would congratulate him, encourage him to continue. It wasn't about being the best, or even being 'good'. It was about creating something you were proud of.

"I think it needs a stem." He says, dipping her paintbrush in a light green paint, guiding her hand in three straight lines to make a couple of leaves as well. "With this, you get a sense of perspective, see? You can tell it's a daffodil now."

He takes Dorothea's hand now. "When I paint, I try to think about the layers of the landscape. What covers what, if that makes sense. So I would start with the stem-" he draws the same three lines on Dorothea's hand, "then the petals-" six yellow strokes, "and finally, the centre-" An orange dot.

He holds his hand next to hers so she can see the comparison. "Also, when I'm using a canvas I let the paint dry between coats, so the colours don't bleed together... but of course I wouldn't keep you for so long."

[vestalround]

every new black eagle is of interest to her — another classmate, another ally, another friend.

dorothea trails curiously, hands clasped behind her back as she observes the girl with interest. ( pretty hair. pretty face. seems like the soft-spoken type, considering how she keeps to herself. )

"have you managed to find your room?" she calls out, quickening her steps to approach with a welcoming smile. "the dormitories can be rather daunting to navigate at first glance. i'd be happy to help out if you're lost." a beat. "i'm dorothea. and your name-?"

There’s eyes on her again. She can always tell when someone is trying to stare right through her, trying to cleave to her heart.

Though all the same, these eyes are not the same daggers that she is used to. For one, they are the ones that she has felt since the tail end of her first day of classes. They fail to be the gaze of a tiger on the hunt…but rather, the gaze of a well-fed, eager cat.

That is why Rinea does not fully jump at the call of the songlike voice…though she cannot help but give a meek hop still. She begins to turn only for the hatted student to already be beside her.

Cutting off easy escape. But Rinea does find the need to escape. Those evergreen eyes and passionate smile…she’s seen this woman before, in those classes.

A classmate shouldn’t be one to betray her. Rinea decides to be careful…but comply.

“My name? Rinea,” she returns the name greeting with her own, only to add a slight curtsy with it. She does not know if flourishes like these are foreign to the setting, yet it only feels natural to give to one so willing to help. “It is nice to meet you, Dorothea…”

When her bow is finished, Rinea returns one hand to her side as the other slides under her cheek. Her eyes thin in uneasiness. “I would rather not be a bother, though I must admit I now find myself lost. The noble quarters…they’re on the second floor, yes? I’ve only visited them once before classes. How can stairs recede from my memory so easily…?”

She shakes her head. “I fear I sound ravening, but might you be fine giving a full tour? Everything is so new to me…and it would be comforting to go through it with you,” a smile finally slips before she parts her lips. “Ah! Only if your time is allotted for it, of course.”

[mmoneystones]

"to think there's a need for gold when you sit here in plain sight, outshining all the treasures of the world." the words flow like sweet nectar—overtly saccharine, yet sincere. citrinne is just as impressive as the last time dorothea saw her, exuding that very air of elegance that seems to come as naturally as breathing. ( such allure could inspire envy in even the most contented soul. )

"may i join you? an evening like this is best enjoyed in good company," she says with a warm smile, offering a tall glass filled with deep scarlets and glowing tangerines, swirling together like the colors of a burning horizon. "it’s a mixed fruit blend—perfectly acceptable, if i do say so myself."

Her ears cannot help but squirm upon taking in the ballad from a voice she had only heard shortly before prior departure. Citrinne pivots around, and sure enough Dorothea is there to greet her behind an ocean that starts to shimmer in the moonlight.

“Oh…please,” Citrinne feels a blush break her internal brooding. The line sounds nearly word for word like something that a snobby suitor aiming for that gold would go for - but when it comes from Dorothea’s mouth, it feels genuine. A little playful, at most. “I’m one who needs treasures of the world to stand out. Your elegance is only natural, Dorothea.”

Smile peeking out but not fully forming, Citrinne raises a hand to accept the glass. The deep red calls back to Dorothea’s hibiscus more than the noble’s own rubies. She takes a lop sip of acceptance, a taste of the mixed fruits deep in combat within her taste buds. Though somehow, the battle concludes with a sweet, enriching aftertaste.

“Acceptable is only an understatement,” she cheers, the intention of more of the evening together being the one reason to hold back from drinking more. “Of course you may join me. I…was going to retreat to my chambers shortly, but a walk by the sea can do me good. An excellent backdrop for two ladies to…share words?”

The ending was meant to sound as a returning offer to Dorothea, only for the question to come out more shaky. More hesitant.

[allyphase]

flower, sender gives receiver a flower. the whole bouquet. what are we, stingy?

there are only so many decadent bouquets one can receive in a lifetime before such gestures lose their appeal.

while her appreciation remains, the thrill has long faded for this songstress. so comes about a new tradition: handing these off to the first person she sees. today's lucky recipient turns out to be the quiet girl dorothea had met at the festivities not too long ago. she quickens her pace, heels clicking loudly against marble as she weaves through the crowd. a free hand raises in greeting, followed by a bright grin.

while she can't seem to remember how to sign “for you” or “would you like this?" dorothea settles for a simple gesture instead: “flowers?” with that, she holds out the offering to the other: deep red roses nestled beside bright yellow daisies and soft lavender sprigs.

( whatever note had been stuck between the petals is long gone. )

To tell the truth, Mark’s day has been pretty miserable up to this point. 

It hadn’t been one big event, but a mountain of small troubles had piled around her, threatening to swallow her entirely. She’d tripped into a puddle that morning, and then dragged her soaking skirts into her class, and the teacher hadn’t understood her signs to answer his question, and the dining hall hadn’t had anything she thought was worth eating for lunch, so she’d simply resolved to wait until dinner to see if the selection improved. It’s a storm cloud that hovers over the quiet tactician today - not that anyone really notices, with how quiet she usually is. 

But the sun comes to break through the clouds, as ever - Dorothea, the girl from the party, with a smile so bright that she glowed, even in the halls of the school. She holds an arrangement of lovely flowers - all yellows and reds and purples - and Mark’s eyes drift from Dorothea’s wave to the bouquet and back. 

“Hello,” she signs, attempting to pick up her smile (and hoping Dorothea doesn’t notice the mud staining the front of her skirts). 

And then the flowers are pushed towards her, with a soft gesture, one Mark hasn’t seen in years. The rain in her expression pauses, brushed away by surprise’s breeze. 

“For me?” she signs, slowly, reaching to take them. “Really?” She repeats the sign, but by then she’s reaching to take the offered gift. The scent of the lavender reaches to caress her face, and she smiles, despite everything. “Thank you,” she signs, her gaze returning to Dorothea. “Thank you, thank you!” She hugs the bouquet to her chest. “I hope I have a vase big enough...!”

[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."

[dcggersedge]

umbrella, sender lets receiver under their umbrella.

the rain comes down hard today. cold and unforgiving, accompanied by dark skies overhead that blot out any sign of the morning's earlier light. it reminds her of an opera, a tale of one in the heavens who finds themselves heartbroken, thus letting their tears flow heavily from high above.

but there are many more broken hearts here on earth, with little to care for them or their suffering. dorothea can only hope yunaka is not one of them. "professor?" she hurries forward, and sidles up to the other's side as her arm adjusts to position the umbrella above them both. "you'll catch a cold like this, you know. how about we walk back to the dining hall together? we can grab something warm."

ask meme | accepting!

The rain comes down today, same as it always does. Yunaka's always found the rain useful. It muffles the world. It empties the streets, making them easier to walk. It cleans away most of the evidence of her work, if she waits long enough. She doesn't really have any strong opinions about it...but she liked the rain more than she disliked it.

The downpour suddenly stops hitting her. Yunaka blinks and looks up at the umbrella, then next to her to find Dorothea. She blinks again, slowly, before her brain catches up and she grins. "Oh, hiya Dory!"

Will she? She's pretty sure that's not true, but she smiles and nods anyway. "Ah, sorry, you don't gotta worry about little old me. Just wandering and thinking, you know?"

Something warm though...well, no reason to turn down perfectly good and easily accessible food while she's got the chance. "Sure, sounds good. Oh, actually, I've been meaning to ask you some questions while we have the chance. I heard through the grapevine that you're also in the showbiz..."

[heavy-draw]

hey girl! have you noticed that we kind of sound alike?

I'm a bit offended. Why are you impersonating me? Knock it off-- I am your teacher, you know...

[berglietz]

a warm breeze rustles through the palm fronds. dorothea adjusts her hat to shield her face from the sun —until a stronger gust of wind sweeps through, catching the brim. her eyes widen in surprise as the hat is lifted from her head, fluttering precariously in the air. hastily, she tries to reach for it, but it’s too late—the hat is already caught in the updraft.

dorothea watches in dismay as it ascends, dancing on the breeze. the hat sails higher and higher, until it lands atop a coconut tree. damn it.

“oh, caspar~! thank goodness! just who i was hoping to see!”

he's waved over, bracelets jangling as she points upward. "my hat's stuck, and i couldn't possibly think of scaling a tree in this outfit." she motions at her bathing suit. "plus, you're plenty strong. i'm sure you'd have no trouble climbing to the top. i mean, just look at those muscles!"

a winning smile. "so, what do you say? help a girl out? you'd be my hero. ”

With the jangling jewelry to guide him, Caspar squints up toward the sky. Sure enough, there's a sun hat caught between the fronds a tree above them. He twists his face back toward his classmate, features still twisted up into a recoil when he speaks.

"Oh come on, Dorothea. You know you don't have to flatter me just to get a helping hand."

His cheeks feel a little warm regardless, but he can blame that on the sun if he'd like to.

There aren't exactly as many obvious hand or footholds as a tree of the branch-ier persuasion, but that's not enough to cow the likes of Caspar von Bergliez. Callused hands wrap around the trunk, and with a hop upward the soles of his feet follow. After that it's just an upward climb.

(He looks a bit like a giant cyan inchworm from a distance. But it gets the job done!)

Finally, up at the fronds, the hat is within reach. All it takes is a quick tug to pull it free.

"Hah! Got it!" He waves his prize through the air like a victory flag. "Here, catch!!"

He opens his hand and releases the hat, allowing it to flutter down toward the sand..........and get swept up by another breeze.

"Oh."

The brim twists and turns as it sails lazily toward the shoreline.

"I-I can still get it! Just gimme a sec to get back down!"