#interaction: lionheartedsunflower

[bxldrsdraumar]

[ Cue the Music ] - there’s certainly music, but it’s unlike any you’ve ever heard before. Maybe it’s because it’s played by crickets with tiny instruments. Dance, request a song, or just stare at your new insect colleagues until they grow annoyed with you, you have so much freedom!

There is a flourishing of grandeur from the strings and ivory keys, and Lachesis recalls intimately the festive sways of footwork and layered skirts hosted within Nordion's borders ; she recalls favorably the myriad of dances she'd shared with Eldigan, when she would step on one of the triplet's toes, or perhaps when a family friend would arrive to spare her even a moment more from abhorred suitors. There is blossoming nostalgia in that moment, though it is placated soon by an image of azure tresses and pristine garb. She glides to him, and unlike with so many others, her confidence wavers.

" Lord Sigurd, " She begins, and she offers him her sincerest bow. " With this being a celebration, I could only think of Eldigan ~~~~ how we would share a dance. " Lips press together, and when she rises, she inhales a hefty breath. " He is not here, I fear. I was wondering, instead, if I could share that dance with you ? You were both of a bond ineffable that it would feel . . . familiar at least ~~~~ as though I'm not souring a tradition by giving it to someone less leonine. "

( 𝓛𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 ! )

"Dear Lachesis..."

She had been awkward around him, lately. He could not quite put his finger on it - perhaps it was to do with seeing so many of their comrades, once fallen, newly risen, when her beloved brother was not counted among their number. He could relate, he thinks, for in a way there surely is no one who loves and misses Eldigan as they do.

He bows deeply to her in kind, and as he rises he takes her hand gently in his, the tender dew of her water brand affixing to the hollow air in his own and creating a delicate mist as they moved onto the dance floor.

Much of their bond is due to her brother, he knows - before they were ever anything to each other, long before she joined he and his on the long marches under his banner, she was a sister and he was a friend, and the collided merely in polite conversation.

Before they begin to move, Sigurd bring her knuckles to his lips, grazing them with a delicate kiss. "You are no less a lion than Eldigan, my dear Lachesis, and you are no less a friend. Come, we will forge new traditions together."

[peerlessscowl]

Tea: Just what it says on the tin! There’s a wide variety of herbs, berries, fruits, and other flavors, brewed in a way that requires the leaves to be scooped out afterwards. Mmm nature Sweet Bun Trio: The first bun is filled with sweet cream and topped with icing and a candied cherry. The second is a sweet roll filled with almonds, pecans, and dried cranberries and glazed with honey. The third is a bun sliced in half, filled with almond paste and whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar on top.

" My aren't you dour. " She chimes, a brow quirking as if it might permit her to glimpse his disgruntled visage better ; it does not, but it humors her to glimpse his discomfort to begin with. She presents the tray of delicacies, a mischievous, if not humored, perk of the lips blatant upon her visage. " Do delight in these ~~~~ they'll raise those gray spirits of yours. And here ~~~~ a drink, too. "

( 𝓛𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 ! )

Raven opens his mouth to spit venom at the comment, but reins in his temper after a breath - though he could argue he was acting as appropriately as the situation called for, he supposed what he could not argue was that he was, in fact, dour.

The lady appears before him with a twinkle in her eye and a tray of sweets and tea, seemingly to share. He thought he'd seen the sweets in the mess hall before - they were popular, if he recalled, but...not exactly to his taste.

Nonetheless, he sighs, attempting to lighten his expression and take the kind gesture for what it was.

"Thank you, my lady," he says, stilted as he hesitantly picks up one of the buns with index finger and thumb, looking at it dubiously before nibbling. Shockingly sweet, as expected. He attempts not to grimace, and - minding the manners that had been drilled into him - he takes the tray from her and gestures to a table. "Please, allow me to pour you a cup. The...um, the tea smells lovely."

His hand finds hers to lead her, and the brush of his wind brand stirs against the dewy watermark on her palm, opening a cool blue bud along the vines at his collar.

He tries not to grimace at it.

[desertslegacy]

[ Fairy Wings ] - shimmer and dazzle in your new boutique threads! And what’s this... it seems they’ve some interesting accessories to choose from as well, the likes of which may be more functional than you initially thought. Soar!

" I hadn't thought I'd be too fond of the desert until I glimpsed you, milady, " She offered a bow. " I'll not forget my own experience, but perhaps your image alone could encourage me to admire the beauty of sand and sweltering sun. "

Lachesis presents the item in hand, though it is disregarded largely with a mirth-kissed chuckle, " I was going to offer you these for flair, but you've succeeded on your own with accomplishing such~"

( 𝓛𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 ! )

"My lady," Igrene greets warmly, inclining her head in return, "you're kind to say so. Many find the desert unwelcoming and oppressive, but it can be full of life - if you know where to look. I hope to provide a fair representation, to better earn your esteem."

The wings are a surprise, and Igrene's eyes widen at the sight of them. "Our hosts have really gone all out, haven't they? I'll try them if you will," she adds, accepting the gift with a gentle clasp to the other woman's hand, their brands mingling with a gentle curl of steam. "Though you are the picture of loveliness yourself - even in a place like my village, you are the sort of thing that children see in storybooks of princesses - I'm sure these can only add to that."

Once they've fitted the wings on, Igrene adds, with a grin, "Do you suppose they're functional?"

[bxldrsdraumar]

“Lord Sigurd!”

There is mirth and warmth in her voice, and it is but a mask to obscure the hesitancy of surreal emotion that blossoms at the mere idea that Lord Chalphy is present. That he might breathe the very air that she does once again, that he who commanded her to heights yet unsurpassed might stride these halls with every bit of benevolence as he once had. 

“I must say that I hadn’t been so sure where I would stand with you when first we met,” She spoke, thulian-gloved digits offering a decorative pouch of sapphire and gold and silver~~~~metallic beauties. “But, now, you are more than a mere ally~~~~a friend, almost brotherly. You and Eldigan possess a friendship unsurpassable, and I know why now.” 

Inside, should he feel so inclined to receive her gift, he might find her hobby-work from the times she had spent in his ranks: charms and jewelry. Tassels of sapphire and gold, white and navy, embellished with knots and the like: bracelets, weave-work, epaulet tassel-work. The handiwork of a myriad of long and sleepless nights in the wake of Eldigan’s eternal slumber. Once eternal, but no longer so. 

“So, thank you, Lord Sigurd. Happy birthday.” 

"Dear Lachesis." He sweeps the lady into a great hug at her arrival, as ever delighted to see her, regardless of occasion. As the little sister of one of his dearest friends, Sigurd had always considered her in that same familial light, but as time had gone on she had grown, and so had his estimation of her, so had their relationship into a close friendship treasured in its own right. 

To him, Lachesis is a reminder of the gentle sweet light of the sun, the warmth of nostalgia that is not diminished by the passage of time, valuable by its own merits. Though he had not had opportunity to spend much time with her since her arrival, her presence is a comfort to him. 

He takes the parcel from her and peeks inside, and his eyes light up at the sight of so many trinkets and baubles, each clearly crafted with love and intention. He plucks up and holds it up to inspect more closely, and he delights in their care and attention to detail. "Dear Lachesis, you made these? Truly? They are lovely! I shall have to wear some for the upcoming ball. You must help me choose – you know I have no head for this sort of thing, but I trust that you will ensure I am presentable," he adds with a wink. 

Once more he gathers her in his arms. "I am glad to hear that you consider me a friend, as I you. Thank you for that friendship, Lachesis. I hope that the coming years can only strengthen our bond." 

[bxldrsdraumar]

a kiss after treating a wound 

He is not the same man that she knew – not quite, although in all the ways that mattered he supposed he was, or at least that he could not tell the difference – but he feels the familiarity of her magic across his skin, the gentle touch of a hand often held in comfort, and Sigurd thinks that perhaps maybe this second life of his is a gift in more ways than one. 

He wraps his fingers around her hand on his shoulder, and he smiles at Lachesis, an earnest, "Thank you," for the simple service done – but more than that, for reminding him of home, not as such in a place but in the people around him. He does not know if the simple gesture conveys all of this to her, can never know, but he knows that he will endeavor to make her understand that she means the world to him. 

She smiles back, and when she kisses the hand that covers hers, he thinks for the briefest moment that she is trying to convey the same to him. 

[peerlessscowl]

a kiss to distract

She strikes hard and fast, moving about the arena with a grace Raven was unused to – from foes, from other mercenaries, even from his father's men-at-arms, hardened Lycian soldiers who moved with weight rather than delicacy. And more than the hard grunts or cries that he usually met in combat, Lachesis seemed to be laughing at him, as though enjoying the bout as a game. 

"Watch your left," she said, pecking him on the cheek before she weaved out of his reach, and for the first time in his career Raven stumbled, turning the misstep into a roll away from her as he scrubbed his cheek and raised his sword. 

"Again," he growled, and launched toward her, forcing himself not to think of that bright laugh or the softness of her lips on his cheek, but instead of the preciseness of the tip of her sword, and where her steps danced next.