#event;birthday2022

[aurheatum]

On a cursory level, Ephidel has understood what birthdays are. A celebration of the anniversary of one's birth, but the morph has never thoroughly experienced one. The date of his creation unknown, and the passage of time insignificant. Even to Lord Nergal, time had come to lose meaning. But here, now, it was far more important to gain the good graces of the morph's new liege. Gifts were often given, he found, and he watched the Archbishop closely to learn more than just what to offer her. Her gaze was often turned skyward, and a hairbrush was one of the few personal artifacts that even Ephidel possessed. "Your Grace," He speaks softly, the gift offered up to her. A hairbrush of dark ebony, dotted with stars of gold. "On the day of your birth, from your humble servant."

The archbishop of the Church of Seiros is a being made for exaltation, for while she is not Seiros - the Goddess's Sword and Proclaimer, Founder of Empires and Preserver of Bloodlines - she is the closest modern Fódlan has to a saint. She is a link to the furthest reaches of the continent's history and there is little more nobles love than to be remembered in such annals.

(Rhea smiles, because it is true; she remembers all, she remembers and does not forgive. Neither, however, does she pass judgement. It is not her place.)

The words and affirmations that come to her now could so easily be swept aside with the rest of the day's detritus, but something in this gift and its presentation makes Rhea pause; no, as lovely as the hairbrush is, it is the presenter that catches her off guard.

The display is thoughtful, not in the way one would usually use the word in regards to gifts but methodical – dark eyes briefly regard Rhea's deep green ones and she can tell today was only of many times this one has watched her.

Perhaps, that should upset her more, but as their hands briefly touch upon Rhea's accepting of the gift she cannot help but think there is something she recognizes in the newly appointed deacon. (–their hands are cold, as are Rhea's most often. But the familiarity is not that. It is in the tone of voice, the unpracticed or sometimes too practiced lilt there, that she has come to associate with her own creations.) "I thank you," she says, "for your generosity. And for remembering the date as that of my birth. Did you know it also the anniversary of Saint Seiros's appearance in Enbarr? I would be happy to tell you more of the legend if you are so interested."

A question asked, but not the one in her heart. Who formed you, she wants to know and the long healed burns of dark magic upon her palms sting, through what means; and furthermore, who, is the one who will take you apart?

[frauleindermorgen]

The days pass, and soon enough, Micaiah's birthday dawns upon them again. The nature of it coming around, to be able to say it has come again, is charming in itself to Pelleas. The fact he could say he has lived long to meet it again— this little note of mundanity to it that feels all the more cherishable for the man with a limited clock, to know that he has known her long enough to meet this marker not just once…

…It brings a delight that Pelleas cannot contain, and when he greets the morning of her birthday, he does so with a smile.

“ Happy birthday, Micaiah, ” he tells her, unable to hide such joy. “ To tell you that again… To tell you the truth, I'm ridiculously happy. Is that weird? It's probably weird. Haha… I'm sorry. I can't explain it very well, but the sound of it makes me giddy. I don't know how to handle it. ”

He laughs, the sound of it near imperceptible, something between excitement and contentment riding through him as he languishes in the face of it all. How frightening to experience a joy this large, so illogically so, but despite his confusion at it all, he tries to embrace it nonetheless.

“ Ah, but I suppose I should give you this before I forget. I saw it and thought of you right away, actually. ” To this, he takes out a simple, long vertical box wrapped with a yellow ribbon not unlike the one he had made and given her for her birthday the year before. The ribbon shimmers a bit in the light as he hands the gift box over. Contained within was a writing utensil made of ivory painted to look like the night sky and brass with fine detailing, evoking the imagery of bird wings. “ The trader in town called it a fountain pen. Fascinating, isn't it? It's so pretty, in my opinion at least, but it also writes! You put the ink inside and then twist and close the pen together, so you can carry it with you wherever you go and write whenever you need without carrying so many things or making a mess. No more quills! ”

It's that side of him that delights in sharing new discoveries and information with her that speaks brightly now, but he tempers his excitement a tad as he carries on.

“ I wanted to make sure this year I got you something you could use and that'd make your life more convenient. I'm not sure if I'd say you make my life more convenient, but I'd definitely say you've made it better, ” he babbles. “ I'm not sure who came up with the phrase 'Happy birthday,' but it's really what I feel. I'm so happy you were born… To think where I'd be if you weren't! I'm not sure I can imagine it. After all, you've saved my life, Micaiah. I mean it… ”

A pause settles as he reflects on everything they've been through to get to this point, and when he speaks up again, it is through a dreamy, tender state; words flow out from within him, little restraint to be had in each syllable.

“ …The thought that I'm able to tell you those words now. It doesn't feel real… but I hope I get the chance to see you and tell you this many more times. Every birthday of yours… I don't want to miss a single one from now on. For as long as you'll let me… ”

She’s on her way back from an early morning walk when Pelleas finds her, coming to meet him halfway as drawn to his smile as she is to the rising sun. It’s difficult to tell whether the jubilant feeling in the air is from Pelleas’s emotions, her own, or some mix but she is simply glad to be with him in the experience.

“I’m happy to hear it again,” she says simply, and thinks that if only for a moment like this she is glad she finally decided on a definitive date of birth.

She receives the box he gives her carefully, taking his excited expression and the continued explanations to mean she should open it, she does so, pocketing the ribbon for later. The utensil…the pen, rather, as Pelleas called it was too beautiful and intricate in make to keep in its package for long so she takes it out and marvels at both its form and Pelleas’s words both.

“It can write! Really?” Taken up in the excitement in the air her fingers itch to use it right away, but Pelleas has moved on before she can catch up and placing it back in the box carefully and listens.

You've saved my life Pelleas tells her and all Micaiah can think in the now seeing him so full of it - life, and spirit all his own - as beautiful as it was, how could she have ever chosen otherwise?

Of course, it had not been her actions alone; Pelleas too had chosen this – her and Daien, the chance to build a home neither of them had ever had. It was that gift most of all that meant the world to her.

“Keep telling me then,”Micaiah asks, putting the box carefully under one arm and taking Pelleass hand in her own, “until it feels real. You never need ask permission. Not from me.”

[venus0507]

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ストライプリボン 実験着

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スケアリーモンスターズ！ ～Endless halloween night～ SSR SR R

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NRCマスターシェフ～魚の魅惑～

豊作村のケルッカロト

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[frauleindermorgen]

"Lady Micaiah! "

It was her nameday~~~ the day that belonged to her. (Not that Lachesis thought the lady would ever claim the day as her own, humble and kind as she was.) And, it was as worthwhile to celebrate as any day of that of a friend's; Lachesis sought, in the least bit, to bring a smile to the dame's face.

"I was hoping that, considering our recent camaraderie," She began, presenting wrapped cloth decorated with sun-like sunflowers. "You might accept my offered tokens on your birthday!"

Unfolding the cloth, the gray-red cover of an empty journal embellished with the golden vinyl of a similarly sun-like sunflower was presented. Alongside it, a beaded string of pastel yellow and pale ruby beads~~~ a place marker.

"I recalled our endeavor in the archives of Quiet Wood, so I assumed you might like a journal."

There was much Micaiah still needed to process regarding her time in Quiet Wood (her role as an elder in its ending only one of many), but thankfully her feelings for Lachesis after the mission were much simpler; this was a woman she greatly admired and respected, someone she would like to continue knowing in the reality here and now if at all possible, so when said someone comes to her dorm early in the morning Micaiah is ever so happy to invite her in.

She hopes her smile is half as lovely as the flowers that line the present Lachesis gives her, for she certainly feels bright and sunny inside.

“I would be delighted! Oh, come in, let me put some tea on.”

Once they were both seated Micaiah carefully unwraps the gift, face scrunched up with concentration so as not to ruin the presentation. Unbeknownst, a small “ahh” passes her lips as find the vinyl cover of the journal. The color of it is almost certainly a reference to Micaiah’s own preference for dress but the sunflower is so much like the Lady Nordion and she cannot help but be delighted.

“I would! And oh – thank you so much, it is perfect. There is so much I would like to record I hardly know where to start unless, of course, might you write something first as a mark of our journey together? The first of many I hope.”

[frauleindermorgen]

"Lady Micaiah, may I borrow you for just a moment?" Deirdre smiles as she stops her student from leaving right after she has dismissed her class. She has not been teaching long but when she learned it was her student's birthday she was quite thrilled to be able to put together a bouquet for her.

She disappears into a storage closet at the back of her classroom and reappears holding a vase of white and purple hydrangeas. Grace and understanding. Two qualities she can see just by looking into Micaiah's eyes. "I hope that your birthday is as lovely as you are."

Micaiah quite enjoys Professor Deirdre’s classes and the way she speaks of magic. The Black Eagles have plenty of magic users and many different courses on different technique and types but none speak so intimately of the process as she does.

There is equal warmth and respect in her attitude toward the arts, and Micaiah recognizes something in that: in growing up with a power too big to comprehend, and painful to look back on.

Maybe she is projecting. It’s been a long year.

She’s pleasantly surprised, however, when the professor calls out to her just after the bell and asks her to wait. She would like to talk to her more, Micaiah thinks, looking around the well tended classroom with its various well-cared for staves and faint floral smell.

She had thought maybe Deirdre just always had flowers on her but the bouquet she holds out to Micaiah she can tell has been plucked and arranged in a particular fashion. She recognizes the shape of hydrangeas but does not have Pelleas with her to say what the colors mean, regardless, she feels honored.

“I – I’m honored. Thank you so much, professor!” She holds the flowers close and beams up at Deirdre. “Garreg Mach has so many beautiful flowers, doesn’t it? Especially in the rose garden. If you’d like I would invite you to tea there sometime soon. There is so much I would like to talk with you about!”

[frauleindermorgen]

He had no idea what to get her, but something in him wanted to observe her birthday regardless. With a little box in hand, he knocked on her door.

“No animals,” he promised, thinking of both Julian and the baby wyvern. Soren held out the small package. “Happy birthday.”

Inside was a little bracelet made of metal birds all linked together, flying in a circle. It wasn’t pure gold, fit for a queen, but he suspected she would like it.

It had been a busy day with classes and well wishes alike, but a fulfilling one. Micaiah is just getting ready to grab something from the dining hall when she hears another knock. “Coming!”

Is she surprised to see Soren when she opens the door? Maybe, she thinks, it’s hard to tell. He had been there for her last year with a distant but real congratulations. He has, in fact, been there for much of Micaiah’s life at Garreg Mach.

She’s not sure how to feel about that either, but maybe it’s alright this not knowing.

“I would hope not,” she says,  taking a step back to give him room and smiling at his quip, “you already know how good I am with them. The only successful animal companion I’ve ever had was the goddess in disguise.”

The box is simple and Micaiah looks to him and then back at it before opening it. Nothing shows on Soren’s face but Micaiah feels a warmth in the interaction from her side at least.

“You really are good at picking out gifts, Soren,” she marvels, as she draws the bracelet out carefully and holds it up so that the small metal birds swing from side to side. A year ago she may have thought this a threat (did he know about Lehran? who had told him?) but today she sees it for the genuine gift it is.

“Thank you,” she says, putting it on over her gloves, “you’ll let me return the favor won’t you? I, ah, I was going to ask you about what treats Julian can have actually. There are biscuits in my room if you’d like to look at them. Don’t think I’ve given up on befriending him, I’m quite tenacious!”

[aurheatum]

Seteth long stopped celebrating their birthdays- as much as it pained him it was for the best, for their own security. The maximum he went for was to give Flayn gifts or a special dinner, but never with much public involvement, if any.

Rhea was the same case.

It wasn't difficult to think of a gift, either. Gone was their age of battling, thankfully, plus gifting others weapons had never been Seteth's thing. He always felt like giving away weapons like this drew battles and conflicts closer- a superstition he held on to, but that proved correct in many cases throughout his life. Seteth didn't fancy himself a fashion specialist either, so he usually discarded the idea of giving Rhea or even Flayn dresses or other accessories.

Call it an old man's quirk, but the priest always had a soft spot for handmade things. Thankfully, it was his specialty as well.

And that was how a small booklet and a letter, both neatly wrapped in silk paper, found themselves atop a desk in Rhea's room. A place where none dared snoop into, a place that was safe. A place that even Seteth himself rarely ever bothered to enter out of respect for Rhea's own privacy, but only now he allowed himself to be sneaky just once.

I remember years ago, how you showed preference to one of my fables when we both were younger. The story however, was not finished at the time and ended abruptly.

A few days ago I found it once more among many old documents, and I figured it was finally time to give it the conclusion it deserves.

I hope that you enjoy it.

Seteth.

The little booklet was clearly old, but well taken care of. It told the story of a girl and a long quest to find happiness, but with it came many challenges and temptations.

In the end she finally finds it, in a warm summer afternoon, tending to the garden of her tiny cozy home as her family- or at least what's left of it, returns from the nearby village fair with supplies for dinner.

Seiros’s sword hangs in her audience chamber, as it always has, watching over the church and all the archbishops and clergy that have been, will be. She gives her sermon there – a lengthier one than that she presents to the children who will attend the cathedral later that day, and for once there is no sly turn of word when she says she prays to do her best this year too to carry on that saint’s wishes.

She hopes for that every year, to continue to carry the millstone around her neck as proudly as she had when she first petitioned Wilhelm’s army, when she stared across the Tailtean Plains with one singular goal in mind.

But each year, she feels it chafe. Each year, even if it never shows, even as her flesh remains strong, she feels her spirit age, and she abhors it.

She does not begrudge the holiday itself, of course. The cold winds tend to linger during the Guardian Moon and the people need hope to warm themselves by alongside the fire.

The archbishop is blessed to have a hearth in her own corridors but she rarely feels its radiance. Still, at the request of her retainers she retires after a long day of prayers with a book from the library she had picked only half looking at the title.

She never opens the book to find what it is, she finds another waiting for her.

She had known Seteth had been writing again, and not just for the many church documents that went through his hands, but she had not asked about it. It was enough to see him at peace. What she feels now, while certainly not peace, is powerful and she finds herself sitting at her desk taking in each page with hardly a breath to spare.

She remembers the little girl in this story, and how she had once begged Seteth to tell her what became of her. He had told her then that it would take time for him to know just as growing takes time.

Rhea turns to the last page and feels herself breathe.

“It’s a lovely wish,” she says aloud, voice hoarse. The booklet she secrets away on her shelf and finds herself more than once looking toward it that evening and in the many evenings to come.