#glorious falin touden

[cowboythewizard726]

this is the falin touden post gather around and look at her majestic beauty. i need you too look at her. please. i am begging. you need to see beautiful wonderful girl.

[eepy-bells]

Friend infodumped abt farcille so much I drew them

[kayr0ss]

Waters of March (ch. 1 of 2)

[Dungeon Meshi / Delicious in Dungeon, Farcille, Fluff & Humor, Established Relationship, Married Farcille, Falin is doing her best, Marcille is stressed] AO3 Link

Summary: The misadventures of Falin Touden as she gathers gifts to woo her wife.

-

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

They said that she was something fearsome to behold: with sharp, draconic eyes and a glorious cover of feathers. They said that she had the strength of a dragon, tempered by justice and kindness—a figure of legend—as terrifying as she was fair. And yet...

The baker fidgeted with his hands, swallowed, stuttered: “...Your Highness?”

And yet it was hard to think of her like that when she was hunched over a tray of raspberry tarts and croissants, visibly distressed by the burden of making the right pastry choice.

She was so normal that he could feel his mind slip into cognitive dissonance, refusing to believe that the Duchess of Melini was pacing around his pastry shop in a crumpled cloak. Her hair was disheveled, her expression forlorn. She pulled her collar further up her neck, a miserable attempt at hiding her tufts of feathers, offering a small yet weary smile to the townsfolk beginning to gawk into his shop window.

“Oh, please don’t call me that,” she asked kindly. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene at your workplace.”

Yes. Of course. Nothing to see here, just Falin Touden—Falin Touden!—sighing despondently at a box of chocolate treats. The baker was a bit lost for words, hovering awkwardly behind the counter while she scanned the shelves. Sure, okay, they were right about the feathers—but where he had expected mystery, or perhaps authority, he instead found a soft and gentle kindness. Even a little bit of awkwardness, if the way she fidgeted with her fingers was any indication.

She caught sight of his more peculiar treats: hardened chocolates shaped in the form of coin bugs. Was that awestruck wonder shining in her dragon's eyes?

"My apologies." He bowed, struggling to drop the honorific. She gave him a lighthearted wave.

Falin Touden circled the bakery for another while yet, her attention constantly pulled this way and that—there she fawned over caramel crickets, here she stared at a tray of macarons with studious intensity. The king's sister had tastes as peculiar as the Devourer himself, it seems, with the way she kept gravitating back towards his more.... monstrous design choices. He was about to tell her all about them, too—about how the molding chocolate was made from cacao beans found further east than Izganda, or how he'd spent years practicing his tempering technique—but she beat him to the punch with a question.

“Are you married?”

A very peculiar question too!

“For nearly two decades now, my lady.” He watched as she looked through the pie display a third time over. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I know how that feels,” Falin smiled wistfully. She toyed with the golden band at her left hand absentmindedly. He wondered if she even realized she did that. “Maybe you can offer me a bit of advice?”

“Advice?”

"You see," her smile turned sheepish, “my wife is furious with me.”

-

They had minimized the choices to 'puff pastry' and 'raspberry'—which didn't really make it that much easier. Helping clients figure out the perfect gift for a loved one was second nature to the baker by now, but dissuading someone from buying their spouse an eight-pound hydra statue was definitely... a first.

He had a few samples to show her, laid out on a spread on the counter. There were tarts, turnovers, pies, danishes—and while they weren't all filled with raspberries, he assured her that it would be of minimal effort to have a custom order made.

She regarded them with delight, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the display of perfect, golden, flaky dough.

"Oh," she sighed dreamily. "They look wonderful. I could eat them all!"

"We could also make strudels," the baker offered, suddenly excited. Did the Royal Sorceress enjoy strudels? Perhaps something more dignified like: "Twists! Although palmiers are good option as well—drizzled with syrup, dusted off with fine sugar—"

The barrage of choices seems to have overwhelmed the poor woman, now blinking wide-eyed at the baker who very quickly schooled his demeanor. "My apologies, Your Highness!" He squawked, wincing at the way the title made her jump. "My excitement got the better of me."

"It's alright," she said with a laugh.

The baker hummed for a thoughtful minute. "What about mille-feuille?"

"Mill—um, what?"

"They're little rectangles of puff pastry, folded over and over again until each layer is so thin that they're almost like the pages of a book!" He smiled. "We could use raspberry cream, layered in between."

Her small, charmed gasp let him know he hit the nail on the head. "Like the tomes she pores over day-by-day!"

He ran behind the counter, reaching into his display where he had samples. "These are layered with simple buttercream—" he placed the tray in front of her "—but it would look something like this." This batch had come out handsomely: a dozen little rectangles, cut to perfection. There were three layers of puff pastry, each of their pages so thin he feared a stray breath of air might chip away the corners. A generous spread of cream lay between them, finished off with a dusting of fine sugar. While some of his clients liked things a little messy-looking, opting for the casual shapelessness of goopy drop cookies and uneven brownies, others liked symmetric perfection. Lady Donato seemed to be the latter, if his impression of her was sound: a stern, intelligent, and practical presence above the King's shoulder. Yes. It was settled. Mille-feuille would do.

She was in a much better mood by the time they had ironed out the details of her order—her shoulders relaxed, feathers almost settled in relief.

"I'm glad this place hasn't changed that much," she commented off-handedly while counting her coins. (He offered the pastries for free—she vehemently refused.)

"Have you been here before?"

"Mhm," she nods. "When Melini was still just an island, my brother and I would come here after particularly rewarding dungeon runs."

He paled. Her brother? The—"The King?"

"We probably seemed so different back then."

It's a bit of a blur—but he has faint memories of a scraggly pair of siblings with ash-blonde hair. They were too thin for the weapons they carried—the young man had barely filled out enough to fit his jerkin. Both had innocent, amber eyes—too hopeful and naive for this world.

It couldn't be...

"Well, I've got someone to meet." Falin Touden said, climbing out his back window. Why was she climbing out his back window? "I'll pick them up later this afternoon!"

She waved, threw her legs over the ledge, and was off.

-

"I'm still mad at you!" Marcille grumbled.

She looked so very vexed—an interesting contrast to how gently she was straightening out Falin's collar, smoothing out her feathers until they lay flat and presentable.

"But!" Marcille punctuated with an accusatory finger to Falin's chest. "You shouldn't miss lunch, you know that your metabolism is different now."

Lunch. The whole affair of finding the perfect pastry had caused Falin to miss it.

Marcille was right—her appetite was different now. It ran deep, as though it was more than just the physical sensation of needing to eat. Falin's hunger had grown with her strength. Marcille (and Laios!) had sat her down and forced her to endure lecture upon lecture on the intricacies of tall-man and dragon physiology—it almost felt like academy lessons! Stronger muscles, sharper eyes, deeper mana—all of that meant she needed more energy, and a regular tall-man's stomach could only digest so much. She'd just have to eat more. A lot more. It was a bit troublesome on her travels, but her days back home have become a joyful assortment of extra brunches, second dinners, and justified treats in-between.

How wonderful it was—the fact that the two people she loved the most had the perfect intersection of knowledge to help her.

Although today was not the day to be skipping her all-important meals: she'd planned to spend an hour or two foraging for magical plants with Senshi in the nearby woods. When she arrived at their meeting place outside the castle, Marcille was already there—glowering at her with one hand on her hip, a bag of packed lunch and travel snacks in the other. She had shoved it into Falin's hands before fussing over the disheveled state of her clothing.

"Sorry," Falin said earnestly, hoping to soothe Marcille's sharp temper. It was a hot, overbearing day. The humidity probably wasn't helping her mood. A sheen of sweat covered Marcille's forehead, and she had grown flushed from the heat. So beautiful—even while she huffed and puffed and pouted. Falin felt a wave of affection as overbearing as the heat of the sun on their backs.

She really, really needed to make it up to her today.

"Don't be late for dinner," Marcille mumbled, crossing her arms.

"Of course." Falin promised.

"Keep her alive for me?" Marcille said towards Senshi, who had been here the whole time but was very good at pretending he was somewhere else completely.

He held a thumbs up. "She'll probably be keeping me alive for you, lass."

That made her laugh a little, and Falin was going to have to thank him for that later. Marcille leaned over to give him a small hug. Falin followed, hoping to get one too, leaning forward to place her hands on Marcille's waist, but—

No such luck—Marcille swatted her away. "Uh-uh!" she tutted. "You're not off the hook!"

She pulled back, holding her hands up in resignation. She wasn't trying to pout—really, she wasn't—but there was a small crack in Marcille's resolve when she did and Falin was willing to take her chances. Marcille was stubborn, though. A stubborn (and wonderful) woman who simply would not give in just yet.

With a final round of goodbyes and reminders, Marcille finally walked (stomped?) back into the castle, seemingly in a better mood than she was before.

"What did you do?" Senshi stood beside her as they watched her disappear into the double doors of the gate.

"Well, my mother-in-law is arriving this weekend." Falin fiddled with her sleeve. "And I forgot."

Senshi sighed. Then he brought up a hand to give Falin a firm pat on the back in solidarity.

-

A pollux mushroom can be used as an enchanting reagent, she could almost hear Marcille's voice in her head. You can tell them apart from others by their double-layered caps and bright colors. But they're not edible, even if they look like candy!

They really did look like candy. There was a multicolored bundle of vivid colors that sat nestled by the roots of an aged, mossy willow tree. Falin wanted to eat them. They had gathered a good amount of plants by now, but having these would make their trip worth it twice over. It was the perfect gift to give Marcille—

—if only there wasn't a giant boar between them and the mushrooms.

"Quiet now," Senshi whispered, crouched behind a thicket of bushes they'd been hiding in. She nodded, carefully parting the leaves, her nose twitching at the scent of prey. It was a mean-looking fellow with menacing, curved tusks that jutted out of its lip. It stomped its hooves on the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust, looking around as though it could feel their eyes on its back—already on alert.

"Oh, that's a wonderful looking creature right there." There was something in Senshi's voice... some sort of anticipation. Not concern though, there was hardly anything to worry about between the two of them and a boar. But he was tense. Almost as if he was... excited?

"You know what we should do to help with Marcille?"

"What?" she whispered back, her hands tightening around the grip of her mace.

He had sparkles in his eyes—mushrooms forgotten. "Cook her favorite meal."

Their eyes connected.

Falin did her best to fight down a grin. Yes, of course, yes! What a wonderful thought—glazed cutlets of pork layered over pasta, a bit of cabbage, garlic, bean sprouts, egg! She trained her eyes back to the boar—the promise of a wonderful meal—and sank low. She felt for the knife sheathed by her boot. If they did this right, there wouldn't be much of a fight or a mess, and—

Her stomach grumbled so loudly that blood rushed up her neck.

Senshi dropped his face into his palms.

Falin chucked nervously.

The boar had whipped its head towards them.

It let out a monstrous squeal—pounding its hooves against the dirt. There was a minute of sweet, tense, silence before it bolted right towards them.

Falin swung on instinct—knife forgotten—her arm throwing her mace in arc effortlessly while Senshi rolled out of the way in an expert maneuver—

"Don't ruin it!" Senshi scolded. She blinked in surprise, changing the trajectory of her mace in the last minute before hitting dirt. "We need it intact around the shoulders—" he dodged a hoof "—and the legs for some ham, and—" Falin jumped back, eyes wide, nearly getting impaled by a tusk "—even the head, for stew!"

"That's the whole boar!" Falin whined. "Where else am I supposed to hit it?!"

"Knife it in the neck!" He deflected another kick with his axe. "Wait—no—the jowl is wonderful for—"

"Sorry Senshi," she growled, rolling over, steadying herself and gripping her mace with both hands. She really hoped she wouldn't have to walk back to the castle covered in blood with a boar slung over her shoulder. "I'm going to bash its head in."

-

She showed up to the castle covered in blood with a boar slung over her shoulders.

While the staff and been gracefully quiet about her ridiculous appearance on the way in, Chilchuck—on his way out from a labor meeting with the council sans Falin—had screeched at the sight of her, shivering hard enough that she swore the hairs on his arms stood on end.

"Falin!"

"Hey, Chilchuck." Falin looked around. "Marcille—"

"—is in a terrible mood!" Chilchuck growled, already pushing her (and the boar by proxy) towards the kitchens. "Negotiations were close to falling out this afternoon," he rattled on, "she's already terrorizing Kabru and your brother—if she sees you looking like you just murdered someone she's going to be an even bigger pain in our asses!"

"Well, I sort of did?"

"Unhelpful!" He whipped his head towards Senshi, who was whistling innocently behind them. "And you! Did you put her up to this?"

"I just made a suggestion."

Chilchuck pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did."

"He was just trying to help," Falin pouted. She muttered a small thanks to the kitchen staff that had unloaded the boar from her back. "I've been trying to put together a few things to give to Marcille, since she's upset with me at the moment."

Chilchuck scratched at the back of his neck, scowling. "She did seem unusually ornery at the meeting today."

"Yeah," Falin sighed. "Senshi suggested we put together her favorite meal, something like the one he prepared for her back in the dungeon. I've already ordered some pastries for dessert."

They lingered in the back of the kitchen, watching as Senshi climbed onto a stool to look over the fresh boar carcass, butcher's knife in hand. He instructed the rest of the staff well, happy to have their help butchering it. She'd spent enough time under his tutelage to understand his process: He'd make pulled pork and sausages from the shoulder and cure some of the belly for bacon. The rest of the belly he would stuff with herbs and lemongrass and aromatics, rolling it up with twine and roasting in an oven before crackling the skin with scalding oil. He called that one pork belly lechon roll—and just the thought of it made her mouth water: the crackle of the skin, offering slight resistance before it gave in to tender, juicy meat covered in a delectable layer of fat that melted in your mouth.

There were the usual cuts of meat, too: ham out of its haunches, short ribs pulled apart for sour soup. He got to the head and—well, she was very good at clubbing things to their death so probably no stew this time, sadly.

Chilchuck considered her plans. "That's a good call, actually."

She beamed.

"She's probably irritable ‘cause she hasn't been able to catch a break for a good meal today." He rubbed at his chin. "What did you even do?"

Falin didn't really fancy being asked the second time in the same day, so she was glad when Senshi looked over his shoulder and answered for her. Though her relief was immediately replaced with concern at how pale Chilchuck had gone.

"Falin." He covered his face with his hands. "You done fucked up."

"Is it—" she blinked. "Is it really so bad?"

"In-laws are the most complicated part of marriage!" He grabbed her by the arms, as though shaken by some long-buried anxiety. "You need to buy her flowers! And—" he gave her a once-over from head to toe, shaking his head in disappointment. "We can go to the markets later to get some, but first you have to clean up, we're not walking around the city with you covered in blood!"

"I can’t cook with you two stirring so much of a fuss!" Senshi grumbled from his perch atop the stool. "You two go take care of finding Marcille's flowers, and I'll make sure dinner is ready by the time you get back."

Next thing she knew she was being pulled out of the kitchens, Chilchuck's hand around her wrist while he stomped back into the castle's main hall in a way that reminded her of her father.

"Um," she looked up at the elaborate clock on the far side of the hall, having to bend downwards so that Chilchuck could comfortably pull her along. It was three and a half hours past noon, which meant Marcille might be back in their quarters to rest. She'd need to figure out how to get changed without being spotted. She thumbed her chin, aimlessly following Chilchuck while he led her through the castle, wondering if maybe she'd left a shirt or two in Laios' chambers—or maybe borrow one of his? Surely it was better than this—stained deep with blood still fresh from the animal. Yes. Okay. Laios' chambers it is. They reached the hallway that led to the royal wing and Chilchuck finally let go. "I'll wait over here," he sank into one of the visiting couches.

She realized that she'd have to pass by the entrance to her and Marcille's chambers on the way to Laois. Not wanting to risk any premature meetings, she looked around, and found the appropriate detour.

She pointed at a window.

"I'm going to go this way."

"That's a window."

"I know."

"You know what," Chilchuck threw his hands up. "Whatever."

-

So, maybe the detour wasn't entirely necessary—but it was fun! From out here, she had a good hypothetical view of the town below: how the city sprawled outwards and then thinned before turning into golden fields that rolled on and on. Hypothetical because, well, it was hard to sight-see with your front pressed against the wall, holding on by the edges of your fingers and the lip of your boots.

The royal wing was, in reality, a random tower in the corner of the castle that had sections converted to separate apartments with rooms, kitchens, and living areas. The former royal wing was too much for any of them: Laios decided there were better uses for such grand, extravagant spaces.

She dropped lower when she passed by several windows that she knew opened up to her and Marcille's chambers—the first was their bedroom window, the second was their living area, and last was a small little square that let a breeze into their kitchen. She knew the way fairly well by now and was familiar with which of the bricks jutted out of the walls just right enough to be a hand hold. Overall, she was thrilled by the height and air that whipped around her.

It wasn't long before she spotted it: Laios' window on the opposite side of the tower. She bit her lip and scaled the few dozen feet that remained.

-

Laios—who was bored out of his mind after that god-awful meeting—had found reprieve from said boredom in the form of a bloodied hand coming up to claw at his windowsill.

He gasped and startled up to his feet, grasping reflexively towards where Kensuke rested on his hip before realizing that he'd left Kensuke out in a dungeon. (Nevermind that he was wearing lounge wear instead of armor.) There was some shuffling and then another hand came up, dirtied and smudged with blood under its fingernails. Laios couldn't help the panic and morbid excitement that filled him. Could it have been a zombie? A ghoul? He'd never heard of them having the inclination to scale walls—much less several stories up! Massive changes in its ecosystem often pushed deviations in monster behavior, though. Perhaps it was cornered into finding a new habitat?

But most importantly (and it made his breath shudder oh so sweetly to think of it), if it was near him—a monster—did it mean—could the curse have possibly been—?!

A mop of ash blonde hair bobbed into view, followed by a pair of amber eyes identical to his.

He sunk back into the couch. "Oh. It's just you, Falin."

Falin knitted her eyebrows. "Good to see you too?"

Whatever complaints he had were snuffed out when she pulled herself up and over his windowsill. She looked terrible—covered in blood from what looked to be a shoulder wound. "Falin?" He was quick on his feet, setting a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder with a scowl on his face. The surge of mana to his hand was almost instinctive—seeking to mend together whatever flesh might have still been undone—but she softly pushed him away.

"I'm okay," she reassured. "That's animal blood. I hunted."

"Oh!" What a relief. "Good," he looked out his window curiously. "Why did you come in through the window?"

"Hiding from Marcille," she admitted sheepishly. "Did I leave any spare clothes here by chance? Or could I borrow a shirt? I just need to—" she gestured vaguely towards herself.

There was a knock on his door. The siblings fell silent.

"Laois?"

Their heads whipped towards each other, a panicked stare between them. "That's Marcille," he whispered, grabbing onto her arm. She had grabbed it back.

"I know!"

He looked down at her shirt. "Oh, you've got to hide."

"I'm trying!"

There was another knock, more insistent this time. "Hello, Laios?"

"I know!" He whispered, already pushing her back out the way she came in. "You gotta—" he grunted, giving her a half-hearted shove.

"Brother!” She whined, grabbing onto the edges of the window frame. "Careful!"

"I thought you were good at climbing!"

"Well, I’m bad at falling!”

"Hurry!" He glanced back towards the door. If he didn't answer, Marcille might leave. "I'll keep her here. You can scale the wall to your chambers and get changed."

Falin's eyes widened in understanding, her mouth rounding off into an ‘oh!’. She leaned back out the window and pulled her knees up to her chest. She gave him an apologetic smile. "Thank you!" And then she dropped from view, already back out to scale the castle walls.

Laios cleared his throat. Alright. Time to be brother of the year. And maybe brother-in-law of the year, too. He could tell that Marcille was having a rough day of it. Falin's got something planned, he's sure, but there must be something he could do to help other than just stall. Maybe he'll ask for another magic lesson over some tea—teaching always seemed to relax her. He wondered if—if things were different, would Marcille be an instructor by now? Academia suited her quite well.

He walked to meet her at the doorway. "It's open, Marcille. Come in!"

But then, he supposed this suited her just fine as well. Actually doing magic. Inventing all new kinds of it. Using it to help people firsthand. She'd left behind the books and scrolls to chase magic into the depths of the dungeon, after all. Just like he and Falin did.

Laios could hear the knob turn and click open, followed by the creak of his heavy, oak door.

"Hey, Laois." Her voice was tired and a little defeated. As she looked into the room, slow and tentative, Laios noticed how worn out she was: her ears were low and her shoulders heavy. Between Falin upsetting her that morning, and the meeting they'd had to sit through with the labor party—well. He'd probably be better off not bringing any of it up.

"Did you hear if Falin got back yet?"

Laios gulped. "I—uh—"

"I feel bad." She was still holding onto the door knob. "I've been short with her all day. And with you as well.” She paused, chewing at her lip. “I'm sorry. I know she didn't mean to forget our plans, but it's more than just that, it's like… everything's testing me today."

"Why don't you take a break?" He suggested. "I could make some tea." At Marcille's concerned expression, he hastily added—"the normal kind! I promise."

She smiled, even laughed a bit. "Thanks. That... that would be nice."

"I'm sure she'll be back before you know it," he reassured. "Come on in. She's with Senshi, they'll be fine. You know, I asked them to keep track of any changeling circles while they were out there. I've been thinking about how changeling transformations could actually help us understand monster genetics." She followed as he walked to his sitting room. "It seems like they only transform creatures into adjacent types of species—like humanoids to other humanoids, or the gargoyles to statues. Isn't that so interesting? Nightmares look like little clams that we'd never think of as dragons—and yet, there they are! What else? What if kelpies were actually closer to hippogriffs than horses?"

"Isn't that a little... ethically questionable?" Marcille raised an eyebrow.

Laios blinked in genuine surprise. "I hardly expected pushback from you on the grounds of ethics—"

"Hey!"

"I mean it!"

"I suppose there are merits," she admitted, her shoulders already relaxing.  "Aside from the fever, it seemed relatively painless. The only facts we know so far are that the changes are temporary, that the transformations draw from related flora and fauna, and that mass isn’t conserved. So I guess there goes physics? It isn’t quite as straightforward as reshaping the matter we’re made of.”

"Right! Having a regularly accessible patch of them would be great. It would do much for us in terms of animal and monster husbandry," His voice began to swell in excitement. “I mean, imagine being able to transform oversized livestock into something smaller whenever farmers needed to transport them. Temporary resizing!” There was an undeniable twinkle of interest in Marcille's eye while he talked her ear off. Laios allowed himself a self-satisfied smile—Marcille looked to be effectively distracted from her woes!

But just as he thought things were going well, she froze, her eyes glued to his hand. Damn! He tried to hide it behind his back, but it was too late. "Laois?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" She was rushing forward towards him with a scowl. "Your hand, it's—"

Covered in blood, yes. Likely from Falin's shirt.

He stepped back suspiciously. "It's okay."

"What do you mean?" Marcille was still frowning, but at least she had stopped. She narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

"Uhm." Laios stared at the ceiling. "There was... a being." Technically true.

"A being."

"A little guy, yeah." He nodded, swallowed thickly. "It was in trouble."

"So it was bleeding." She paused to consider this. "I'm guessing it was injured?"

Laois looked sideways, beginning to feel sweat under his collar. "Kind of? I helped it."

"You healed it?"

"With my hand." He held it up. She backed away. "Yes."

They stared at each other for another moment still. She finally broke the stretching silence. "Where is it?"

He could feel the prickling heat of panic at the back of his neck. He needed to think of something. Fast. Maybe it escaped out the window? Maybe he could say it was hiding around the room? No, no—Marcille would turn the whole place over just to discover that there wasn't even really an 'it'. Laios tried not to curse, racking his brain for some reasonable explanation that Marcille would believe.

"Laios?"

Something! Anything! Do it for Falin! Marcille was starting to walk towards him, a furrow in her brow. He set his jaw, looked her straight in the eye, and tried his best to keep his voice from cracking while he said:

"I ate it."

It all happened so fast. He didn't even register that the rounded end of Ambrosia was thrust violently into his gut until he heard Marcille's panicked shriek.

"Laios!" She was inching ever closer to a heart-attack every second that passed. Hopefully she wouldn't actually get one—his sister's wrath was rare but formidable!

"Ouch!"

"Spit it out!" she growled, shaking his shoulders. He could feel her fussing over him, her palms buzzing with mana in what he assumed was an attempt to magically detect toxins.

"No!"

Marcille was kicking up a small storm, but that was okay. This was killing time as intended. She rubbed at her temples, already beginning a litany of consequences they'd have to manage if he turned up with food poisoning—again. Something about a dignitary meeting tomorrow, and a public appearance the following day. He didn't worry too much, knowing that there weren't really any gastrointestinal calamities to mitigate, but he was disappointed that her progress towards relaxation had all but come undone—and guilty to have worried her so much.

"I'm fine!" He insisted, holding up his hands (bloody and all) to assuage her.

She was unconvinced. He jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding another jab of Ambrosia's rounded end, and only hoped that Falin's plans were going better than his.

-

"Uhm." The new castle guard nudged at his partner. "Are we getting robbed?"

"Huh?"

"Over there," he pointed to the tower that held the royal family's quarters.

His partner squinted his eyes, lifting a gloved hand to cover the sun's glare. He could see... blue? A fluttering blue coat, scuttling around the walls and—ah. "No, we're not. That's Lady Touden."

The new guy whipped his head back. "What?"

"Yeah, she kind of just… does that."

They watched as she leaped upwards in what looked like an impossible feat of strength, her arm outstretched and hanging on a hand hold. They both whistled. She made it look effortless—easy!

"That's pretty awesome."

"I know, right?!"

-

to be continued

-

A/N:

I promise that the second chapter will be a majority of Marcille and Falin interacting fluff! This is meant to be a one-shot, but it kept winding on and on and was generally fun to write, so it's been split into two chapters. I'm a huge fan of some fluffy slice of life goodness so - here's my attempt at making some! The title is inspired by the song "Águas de março" by Antonio Carlos Jobim & Elise Regina (I'm a big bossa fan!). I really encourage y'all to look up the song and have a minute to yourself with a nice beverage to just relax and chill! The song encapsulates how I feel a Farcille marriage would be: a little bit of everything, ups and downs and little hiccups and stretches of bliss - always circling back to the joy in their hearts ^_^ Many, many thank yous to @saltypyrotato who beta-read this chapter. Your feedback is always so insightful! Ur the best! Some notes: In this fic I refer to Falin as a 'Duchess' - I'm not actually sure if I used it correctly buuuuuut it sounds cool soooo yeah!