#viridescent lance

[verseandrhyme]

♡

○○○○○ | ATTRACTION ○○○○○ | AFFECTION ●○○○○ | INTEREST ○○○○○ | LOYALTY ●○○○○ | TRUST

"He certainly is...keen on matters that concern my father. Worryingly so. He is not the first to complain to me of him, nor do I think he will be the last. You think these people would have some tact when approaching a girl about her father. Still, I understand his frustrations. Whatever that situation is, however, I would like to not be a part of it."

[carefreemonk]

It's Azama's birthday, and Forsyth would simply be remiss not to get the monk something.

His choices are thoughtful, in that he put quite a lot of thought into them. Azama seems an unflappable individual, and certainly thinks himself as such, but no human is without weakness. Through careful observation, Forsyth has discerned some appropriate gifts.

First of all is a clock. It is plain and simple, as not to prompt a rejection for being too worldly. However, it has a hidden flaw; after a bit of time, it will start ticking just loudly enough to be annoying. One can try and fix it, but it will always revert.

Second is a strangely-shaped wrapped gift that contains what the artisan described as "sensory slime." Forsyth had shuddered at the texture, it being far, well, slimier than it looked. Within it lies a fair amount of glitter that Forsyth had a time fully removing from himself just from a brief poke--when Azama tears it open, surely it will be a surprise that sticks.

Finally, he has prepared a batch of cookies that seems nice enough, but one or two have a secret ingredient--the herb cilantro, which Forsyth has witnessed Azama avoid on multiple occasions.

He doubts Azama will well and true trust something from him directly, so he leaves the three in his room, hoping each seems like it is from a different person. Such duplicity should be beneath him, but he is simply approaching the monk on the his own level.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

To further chase away suspicion, he delivers to Azama himself a fairly plain gift, a small candle that smells rather intensely of lavender.

"Happy birthday," he lies. It's a perfunctory gift, clearly bought and given out of obligation. "Men of the cloth appreciate calm, yes?"

It's just too bad he won't be able to see Azama's immediate reaction to the rest of his generosity.

(He shouldn't have guilt eating at him, but maybe the stomachache he can't shake is anxiety about the amount of money he spent on this. Grudges are expensive...)

“Calm, yes,” Azama replies, brow arched. Why now, isn’t this a strange turn of events? A birthday gift for an annoying rival? There’s no way that isn’t suspicious any. “… You needn’t go through the trouble!” Nonetheless, the monk bows in an appreciation as obligatory as the giving of the gift itself. (He resists the urge to twitch. Whatever chandler fashioned this obnoxiously perfumed thing ought to be—)

“Truly. I mean it. Ah, but… Thank you.” 

Now go away. Hopefully Forsyth gets the hint as Azama turns away to focus on a very important speck on the wall nearest to him. Hmm… But…

“Oh! Wait! Just a moment, if you will.”

The monk clasps one of Forsyth’s hands - no escape, friend, it's Azama's birthday so you have to be nice - and from a pouch, Azama fishes out a small crystal. He tucks it into Forsyth's palm. “Amethyst! To ward off negativity. Your soul is looker a bit darker than usual lately.”

(This is complete fabrication of course.) (… probably.)

Azama flashes his teeth before turning on his heels and walking away. ◇ ◇ ◇

It’s been an interesting day. Such thought lingers as the monk flops into bed near the end of the day. But it has not escaped his notice that his room, spartan as it typically is, has changed. Those weren’t there before.

Well. It’s been a decent day. He trusts enough in the gods to let it end on a good note. And so: 

...He immediately does not like the slime.

From the glitter to the texture, the monk pulls a face. Even the act of putting it aside is not so simple - instead, it proves something of a painstaking endeavour, to the point where Azama mutters a cantrip that freezes the stuff solid.

He still has to contend with remnants of glitter after the fact.

For weeks after the fact, even.

Evil.

Evil.

...The cookies are perhaps the worst of the gifts.

What manner of monster would do such a thing??

What a waste of food.

Even at a sniff, they are dubious at best, but being a creature of curiosity, the monk naturally chances a nibble.

Terrible. Awful. If Azama could exorcize them and their maker, he would.

He is nevertheless half tempted to try.

And as for the clock… the clock’s days are soon numbered - soon, as in, as of the very first night it puts on its obnoxious performance. Given there are no named gifters, and bearing in mind the nature of the other so-called presents (aaand most importantly: Azama can’t really think of many people who would bother with presents for him of all people), the monk feels little remorse in getting rid of it.

Chuckling to himself, Azama later regifts it to Python, (almost alongside a couple of cookies, though he resists). It’d fit in nicely with his room, the monk cheerfully offers. (Maybe the archer, deft with his hands, will actually be able to fix it. Who knows! Not Azama’s problem any longer. What does a monk needs with keeping time, anyhow? He’ll go where the fates direct him, thanks much.)

…

Begs the question though: who would go through the trouble?

It’s not like Azama ever has a dearth of enemies wherever he goes, but, like, hasn’t he been on his best behaviour here at the monastery??

What has he done to deserve this?

Sigh.

May the gods see fit to punish the bastard, he curses softly as he crawls into bed, nevertheless content (if a titch disgruntled).

(He knows that’s not really how it works. Whatever. He’s the holy man here, not you.)

[nagaficat]

"Lady Deirdre, forgive me for intruding, but are you quite alright?" Running into his friend is always a pleasure, but that streak seems to be broken as the gloom and sadness hanging over her presence is anything but. Still, he is grateful he can be here for her, as a friend. "You need not tell me anything you would not like, but...I worry, seeing you like this. If there is anything I can do, say the word."

It's almost a retelling of their original meeting, sitting together in a field of flowers. But Deirdre's face is one of heartbreak, not joy. Sigurd had just arrived home, and her other husband, Arvis, is teaching at Garreg Mach as well. She should be happy; had some manner of conflict soured their reunion? It is fruitless to wonder, and best to listen, but he cannot help his curiosity.

Sigurd's return has brought with it complications Deirdre could never have expected. It was not the happy reunion she had anticipated and she is left broken and unwanted. She's had to cancel her classes multiple times because she does not want her students to have to see her with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. Even Lord Arvis's arms have not been enough to comfort her.

It does not surprise her that Forsyth notices her sorrow when he runs into her.

"I am not alright," she admits and a lump forms in her throat, threatening to choke her. "Lord Sigurd he...I do not think he loves me anymore. And our friends despise me. I do not know what to do. I do not know how I am supposed to continue to live my life each day knowing that I love him but watching him avoid me."

Tears well up in her eyes and she thrusts herself forward into her friend. The one friend she has trusted with the truth of her son. He is a kindred spirit, someone who also seeks out the good in everyone. It means so much that she still has him.

[twistedisciple]

"You there! Yes, you!" Forsyth marches up to the troublemaker--Griss, he's heard. This man has been causing a series of ruckuses across the ball, and even visiting grief upon Lady Celica! He shall not allow such miscreancy to continue! He seizes the man's hand, hardly taking notice of the flowers blooming on each of their necklaces. "Your knavish actions have visited chaos upon this gathering! I command you to cease at once, or face disciplinary action!"

Is this man even a member of the staff, here? How could Lady Rhea approve such a fiendish individual? No matter; he will either start to behave, or Forsyth will take the necessary steps.

"Command?" Griss whirls on his new critic with a look halfway between amusement and challenge, and boy is he a sight. He cuts the figure of a knight even with emerald cloth in place of armor, his posture straight, a chiding look that would've come straight from the pages of a textbook if there was one on making faces (and Griss is pretty sure there's gotta be at least one, somewhere, that's found its way into this guy's hands). Griss, by contrast, slumps down by nearly a third of his full height, shoulders and neck at odd angles, one arm hanging, the other limp in the knight's hand. He makes no effort to pull away, but a smirk snakes lazily across his lips as a flower blooms from his own vine. That was easy. Now he could have a little fun.

"What're you gonna do if I don't?" he prods, tilting his head and staring up at the knight from an angle. "Gimme a preview of this 'disciplinary action,' if you've got the authority."

[redmessenger]

not even jupiter can find a lost opportunity

@viridescent-lance witch's accord round 1!

Lukas has no intention to be soft to Forsyth. Within this game his friend is simply another player, in this round a direct opponent that can spell his undoing as much as anyone else. For now, though, he greets his old ally like any other time, with a warm smile and a clap on the shoulder. "How fortunate we are to find each other here."

Forsyth is a known quantity compared to many of the other people in this game. Lukas is fairly confident his friend will decide to Ally, but whether he'd be willing to lie to win... "What are you thinking for this round?" he asks curiously.

[lordleonster]

"Hail and well met, Sir Quan!" Forsyth has heard the man is Leif's father, and thus Altena's as well? He must be an honorable man, to be Lady Ethlyn's husband and have raised such fine children. And he extended an offer to teach Forsyth about the Jugdralian history that has inspired this tournament! "It is good to see you."

"I heard from your son, Lord Leif, that you were interested in relaying history from your homeland to me?" Forsyth nods, motioning for Quan to take the seat beside him. He's prepared pen and paper for taking notes, and two cups of tea. This first impression shall go swimmingly! "I would be more than willing to listen, if that is your desire!"

"Well met, Sir Forsyth the True!" He meets the man's vigor in full— a stern, reassured smile adorning his face. Quan raises his chin to acknowledge him, much like a brother-in-arms. Something about his brow suggests familiarity, though he hails from a different country than Thracia. "However far we go in this competition, I promise to be at your side." The gravity of a promise is present, for Quan valued the cooperative measures his son had implemented for the upcoming battles. And, really, he had been waiting for an opportunity to duel, again, after all this time. It was the best way to get his blood roaring, and the best way to judge if he was still in good condition to serve his people back home.

"Indeed! I had written you quite the passage, though I hear the same goes for you. Miss Sara informed me of your eagerness. I suppose we both talked at length, hm?" The amusement staggers forth from this dark brown irises, sizing the man up. Forsyth's energy was quite contagious, wasn't it? "You remind me of a number of friends, back home." Present-tense. He had a peculiar feeling that they would be joining him, in this strange purgatory of an academy. "My son must have given you a summary of the whole situation, but..." He eyes the cups of tea and acquiesces, brandishing a proud grin to manifest the honor and sorrow of his nation.

"Since you are so inclined," He gestures to the recliners in the lounge, priming him for a long, fascinating story ahead. "After you."

[ladyleonster]

[ Wish ] - Off to the side there is a lonely well. Perhaps if you toss in a coin and keep it company for a moment, it will grant you a wish? 

Forsyth needs some space. While he is a social person, the events of this night have pushed him to his limit. The crisp night air, though a fabrication, is welcoming and refreshing, and this walk of seclusion is just what he needed.

He's not alone for long, though. He rounds a bend, seeing a clearly inebriated pink-haired woman doing...something. She's attempting to throw coins into a well? It must be a wishing well, and her wish is dodging fulfillment left and right as the coins refuse to land in it.

He's gotten close enough to recognize her as Ethlyn, Sigurd's younger sister. Before he can attempt a greeting, she bursts into tears, wracking sobs that shake her entire body as she stumbles back onto the bench behind her.

"...Lady Ethlyn?" Forsyth approaches cautiously, sitting beside her. He doesn't know the correct course of action, but he cannot leave her alone like this. What to do, what to do...oh! He produces a coin, holding it out to her. "I am not certain what wish you were making, but I would gladly use my own to fulfill it, if you so desire."

His other arm hovers awkwardly behind the bench. Is a hug appropriate here? Leaving her to cry on her own feels cruel, but he does not want to intrude on her personal space.

With each coin that bounces off the brick walls of the well as she misses her mark, Ethlyn gets angrier. And the more frustrated she gets, the less accurate her aim becomes. There is a whole mess of gold surrounding the well now as she sits on a bench nearby. Sure, she could get up, retrieve her coins, and drop them in from a closer distance but that would require standing and walking and she very much does not feel like doing that right now.

Plus the tink of metal bouncing off brick is satisfying in a way and the effort expended in chucking them is sort of beginning to calm her nerves.

One of her fellow knights approaches and sits beside her and she sighs, prepared for a lecture. She doesn't know Forsyth personally but he's a rather loud individual. She's definitely seen him put his foot down and stand up for propriety before. But no lecture comes. Instead, he offers her another chance at a wish and some awfully kind words that she knows she doesn't deserve.

Ethlyn reaches out and their palms touch as she takes the coin, causing flowers to bloom at each of their necks. She holds it and considers his offer for a moment before holding it back out to him. "I appreciate your offer but, if I'm going to be honest, I don't think this well has the power to give me what I really want."

She wonders what Quan would think of what she did if he did suddenly come back to life. Would he pity her? Take her in his arms and try to comfort her? Would he be upset that, for a moment, she forgot about him and tried to find solace with another man? He'd want her to be happy, she knows that much. But she isn't.

[ashenprofessor]

[ Whoops ] - While they dance, the sender trips over the receiver.

"Byleth! I hope you've been enjoying yourself." It's always wonderful to run into a friend, and Forsyth has been meaning to catch up with Byleth for some time now. Their busy schedules have conflicted far too much, and he's missed them. "Despite the chaos and hijacking, it seems as if people are having a good time."

The little rat band begins playing a jaunty tune, just perfect for dancing to. Forsyth taps his feet to the music, setting down his glass and extending a hand to Byleth.

"Shall we dance and partake in the merriment?"

Unfortunately, Forsyth's coordination regarding dancing has never been the best, and he's had a few drinks to boot. They're not even a minute in when he stumbles and trips over Byleth's foot, sending them both tumbling to the ground and into an unsuspecting rat waiter.

"It's been an entertaining evening so far. How about yourself?" They enquired having greeted Forsyth, noting the slight swaying to his gait. "After everything which has happened recently, it's been nice to relax for a night off despite the strange circumstances. I accept your offer of a dance, I know this tune"

After accepting the opportunity to twirl round the dance floor with a certain green haired knight, Byleth was grateful they had chosen to not follow tradition and wear a gown. Viewing them as not only was it impracticable but given their current position it seemed to have been a wise move. Goddess knows what would have happened if Forsyth had tripped over the hems of that or if they had themselves!

Thankfully, Byleth's quick reflexes saved them from completely face planting the ground as they were able to roll to the side. The poor waiter they almost took down with them was not so fortunate. The rat didn't fail but their tray of drinks was upends, a shower of sticky liquid falling on them and the surrounding floor. "I'm really sorry." Byleth said, ignoring their current state to apologise to the waiter. They reach out their hand to help Forsyth up. As they did so, they felt a warm glow coming from the necklace they wore that evening as a bright blue flower bead blossomed there. "Let us help you get this cleared up, dancing can wait."

[hresvelged]

If she wasn't in the middle of a battle, perhaps she would whip out her Hubert impression. Alas, she decides to settle with a simple laugh: "Heh. You are free to run it by him if you wish, but I can't promise what he might say." She, too, attempts a joke. Even if it falls flat, she pays it no mind.

Edelgard 2.5/5HP critically hits Shez (F) 3.5/5HP [Roll: 20] [1.5*2=3] Shez (F) 0.5/5HP

Shez is strong— Skilled, causing the Imperial Princess to find herself at the end of the sword. It is for this reason she cannot hold back. She quietly winces and shuffles it under the metaphorical rug. "I've enjoyed this fight. For now, though, I should like to see this one concluded."

Raising the sword high, she takes a strong swing in her direction. At its conclusion, she swipes blades of grass before retracting it back to her person.

It goes without saying— Fight with me again. I await it.

— End

birdbrains say what? ...wait, what?

boel round 1 battle 12 : black eagles vs golden deer

[carefreemonk]

☆ e-erm... (nw if it's too late to do this i just did not see it in its initial glory lol)

[ azama steps up to the mic ]

...

...

Must I...?

... Fine then.

He's everything you could want in a knight! Stubborn, uptight, dashing, and oh so loyal. The sort who's easy to tease - almost too easy, if you ask me.

But he does seem possessed of a virtuous heart - the sort that many a god look favourably upon. Maybe that's why he's so lucky...

ahem. That should be enough, yes?

(Not in the habit of rooting for competition, sorry not sorry.)

[redmessenger]

Sparkling Water: Fresh spring water that has been magically carbonated. Served with a squeeze of lime or a dash of one of the many fruit syrups available at the bartender’s disposal.

"Ho, Lukas!" Forsyth would recognize those dulcet tones anywhere. He carefully makes his way through the crowd, apologizing as he pushes past a few individuals and makes his way to...

...what on earth is Lukas wearing?

Even from the back, it's very strange, tendrils clinging to him in such a manner that no part of his silhouette is left to the imagination. Bright orange flowers bloom, decorating the bodysuit in a gaudy fashion, and he wears a matching crown.

And then he turns around.

"I-it seems the elementals have taken great artistic liberty with your costuming." Don't look down don't look down don'tlookdown. Lukas's chest is covered in the barest sense of the word--a sheer, transparent cloth simply tints it darker. The tendrils block none of what they should, instead caressing him in a manner that reddens Forsyth's face. He swallows. No need to stare and make Lukas feel even more stressed. "I hope you've been able to enjoy yourself, regardless."

A rat-waiter provides Forsyth the exact break he's looking for, and he gratefully accepts a pair of flavored sparkling waters from them. Both glisten a delightful pink, sure to be the sweet flavor he and Lukas both so enjoy.

"It's good to pace ourselves. I'll admit, I've had more drink than I am used to tonight." Forsyth blinks, definitely not letting his gaze sink as he offers Lukas the refreshing beverage. He gulps his down a little faster than he probably should have, nearly choking on it before he gets a hold of himself. What is wrong with him, tonight? This stress really is getting to him. "I've had little success negotiating with our hosts, unfortunately. Though they have said they'll consider some of my propositions!"

A liquid giggle in Forsyth's ear does not inspire confidence, and the way it increases in intensity as he averts his eyes yet again does little to help his composure.

Forsyth blushes furiously like a maiden on her wedding night, initial confidence draining away into an uncharacteristic bashfulness. Lukas… doesn’t know what to make of it. Surely this isn’t the first time Forsyth has seen him shirtless? (Was it?)

But drink has loosened his tongue, and his reply comes sharp and unfiltered: “The communal baths from our Deliverance days have long washed away any shame I had about going without a shirt. I don’t particularly care where your gaze rests…” Lukas leans against the bar, moving his head and trying to meet Forsyth’s averted eyes. Once he meets them, he gives a small smile, trying to reassure and relax his friend, “But I prefer if you’d at least look me in the eye when you’re talking to me.”

The pink drink certainly looks interesting, but given how much alcohol Lukas already drank tonight, he’s not sure if this is something he ought to drink. “I drank enough in the past hour to last the night,” he admits. “In normal circumstances I would have paced myself better, but… ah… it is what it is.” He takes cautious sips of the drink, relieved by its sweet taste. “This party is going better than I expected. I am still cautious… but my host has not bothered me since inflicting me with this awful thing. I much prefer this to the meddling I’ve seen from the other elements.”

[redmessenger]

continued from here

Forsyth offers an escape from the topic of his clothes, one that Lukas takes up gladly. “An astute observation. Perhaps this is another case of the gods being deep in their cups,” he jokes.

The sudden nature of Forsyth’s movements startles Lukas for a moment, but he relaxes once he recognizes the blooming of another flower on the vine. “Ah, yes. Queen Caeda informed me of what the flowers meant. But you’re saying we have to collect them?” Lukas looks down at his own vine, considering the two flowers he’s inadvertently collected. Two out of five... not bad, considering he hadn’t gone out of his way to get them.

Lukas’ gazes turns downwards, eyes tracing along the petals on his vine. Earth and Water. And his is Fire, the orange bloom Forsyth just received. “I still don’t entirely trust their intentions... but if this is a potential solution, I’m willing to explore where this leads.” 

...Belatedly, Lukas realizes his hand is still in Forsyth’s. He slowly withdraws it, returning his hands to his lap. “It seems simple enough,” he comments. “It’s common for hands to touch. And in an event like this, I imagine the action would come naturally... Forsyth, you’ve talked to our hosts, yes? Do you think that seeing all of us attending a ball and mingling together is what they’ve wanted all along?”

[deliverred]

Lukas had approached Forsyth for a rematch, as, even though it was a silly game, he wanted to at least put up more of a challenge than his first try. His friend had put forth his best effort, and he wanted to try and match that as much as he could -- if not in intensity, then determination.

So, with another biscuit between them, another round was had.

Much like before, Forsyth was focused and unflinching, but this time, Lukas wasn't allowing himself to get caught up in the silliness of the game itself. The goal was to reach the middle of the biscuit before the other person did, and outside of the slight awkwardness of it all, it wasn't a difficult task to accomplish. They were both making steady progress, neither of them willing to back off.

Even as they got closer; an unplanned bump of noses, the slight brush of lips before the inevitable of meeting in the middle forced them into a more or less proper kiss.

If you didn't count the cookie and the chewing, that is...

It didn't last long, but it was warm and nice. It really wasn't all that special on the face of it, hardly unlike any kiss Lukas had initiated or received before once he was old enough to understand and seek out such affections. But...there was a difference to it that he could not name, and before he had much time to muse on the stirring sensation that tugged at him with the easily broken gossamer of a spider's silk, Forsyth is pulling away sharply.

Lukas blinks at the sudden motion, brow furrowing faintly in confusion at the...stress and discomfort that roll off of Forsyth in waves. His breathing is erratic and his eyes wide, like a prey animal cornered.

This had not happened the first time. Why did he seem bothered now? Was it because of the different result? Had he pushed a boundary...?

Lukas swallows, taking a deliberate step back from Forsyth as he seems to flounder for a moment to compose himself. He can give the other man space, but...Forsyth is avoiding his gaze now and Lukas smiles against the cold drop in his gut.

This was supposed to be something fun. He hadn't meant to make the other man uncomfortable.

"...Of course. Forgive me for interrupting your duties, Forsyth," he says, accepting the rushed excuse the knight was offering him, expression unchanged as Forsyth...leaves. It was abrupt and unusual, but certainly not an outright lie -- he didn't think the other man was really capable of lying.

Lukas remains standing there for some time, eyes looking through the space Forsyth had just been and hands clenched too tight behind his back.

The smile is gone, replaced with an empty mask.

In the next breath, he's turned on his heel and left in the opposite direction.

🍪

[ rolls: 5+5 😳 ]

After their first attempt, Forsyth's been thinking a lot about the results of his pocky game with Lukas. The exhilaration of a close match against a friend, condensed into a sweet treat--it's nice, when done with someone you like and trust. So when Lukas approaches him for a rematch, what else could he do but accept?

Lukas is more intense this time, determined. His cool red eyes focus in, getting closer and closer. Forsyth is just as ready, making his way down the biscuit, steady and paced. His breath hitches a little at the bump of Lukas's nose against his, but he stays strong, continuing his path.

(Something stirs in the back of his memory, an uncomfortable, thrilling prickle. He pushes it away.)

He should not be surprised when their lips get so close they brush slightly. This is his last chance to pull away. Lukas's, too.

(Clumsy, drunken stumbling in the wake of that terrible lonely time. Tear-stained cheeks caressed, red-rimmed eyes soothed with a damp cloth. A kind gaze, one you could fall into. How could he not want to...?)

Their lips meet, neither willing to back down. Forsyth's heart skips a beat, the cloying sweetness of chocolate mixing between their mouths, and he cannot deny the desire in the moment to stay.

It's exactly why he has to pull away, breathing heavily and swallowing down the biscuit that he hasn't. He can't--he--Lukas is his friend, his dear and close friend who he trusts with his whole heart. He cannot jeopardize that for an impulsive desire.

"I..." If his heart could just stop hammering, if he could return his breath to normal and step back from the charged situation that resulted in this reaction. Surely Lukas will not fault him for this result, at least. The point of the game is to create such tension, a thinly-veiled, juvenile tradition to fish for closeness with crushes. "…it seems we have ended this at an impasse."

(Then why was he so eager to do it with Lukas?)

"I...should go attend to my duties." It's a flimsy excuse, but he can hardly stand to look at Lukas now, especially not the flecks of chocolate and crumbs surrounding his mouth. Which of them were originally in Forsyth's mouth? "The students are getting into an abundance of trouble today, given, well. You know. So, I should get to my patrol."

He briskly walks away, no particular direction in mind. He feels guilt weigh down the giddiness in his stomach like lead. Oh, he must tell Python about this...

[ulircursed]

♡ um.

Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours

○○○○○ | ATTRACTION ○○○○○ | AFFECTION ○○○○○ | INTEREST ○○○○○ | LOYALTY ○○○○○ | TRUST

"In the end, it was merely some crime of passion, ultimately meaningless. He knows nothing of Yngvi, nothing of Holy Blood. It is the height of foolishness for me to continue allowing this to chafe at me, I know, but...

He still attacked her.

I will not ever be able to look upon him without remembering that."

[bxldrsdraumar]

"Lord Sigurd!" Many things have occurred since the man left for his hunt, the least of which being his wife's other husband (and perhaps his husband? he's not sure of their arrangement) arriving to teach at the monastery. Quan and Eldigan, two of Sigurd's best friends from what Forsyth has gathered, have also found themselves at Garreg Mach. Deirdre's words of miracles swirl in Forsyth's brain thinking about it, and he wonders how Sigurd has reacted to all of this. Even in joy, it must be overwhelming. "It is good to see you again! How was the hunt?"

As he offers his hand, something feels...off. Maybe it's his imagination, but this isn't quite the spirits he'd imagined his friend to be in. Perhaps he is overwhelmed?

Sigurd did not know how long he'd been standing before the training dummy before he heard the voice calling his name. He recalled, vaguely, getting up that morning (the one before? they were...a blur), he recalled spending time in the mess (though for what meal, or what he ate, also a blur), and he recalled plucking the training sword from the racks along the walls.

The rest was mere wind, passing about and through him as the world moved on.

He pressed his hand to the dummy's front, tipping forward a bit until his forehead near touched what might be called its shoulder before he heard his name, a soft rumble at first, then sharper with more clarity as the veil in his mind lifted.

As he rose, he felt two drops against his thumb. His brow furrowed - he did not recall hearing that it would rain today.

"Sir Forsyth," he replied, the hand dragging from the dummy's chest, a mite sluggish, to grasp the hand extended. "The hunt went well, I thank you. We are truly blessed by your goddess - or. Not yours." He shook his head. "Apologies. The goddess of Fodlan. May we dine well until the thaw."

[making-dough]

🐺- A memory about being alone

memories meme - very closed. very late. just remembered i still have a pile of these, ahaha~ thanks for the ask!

♠ - A frustrated footfall stomped down heavily, muffled against the snow below. A loud, angry, frustrated stomp that only expressed a fraction of how mad she was right now. How long? Exactly how long had Fiora been keeping all of this to herself? How long has her sister been paying for her mistakes?

Really, it was her mistake in the first place. Her stupid dare that had resulted in her squad of trainees flying into that storm in the first place. So, why the hell was her big sister, who didn't have a single thing to do with that dumb dare in the first place, the one who was saddled with all that debt? Just for saving her life?

And she'd thinking things were leaner than usual lately. That Fi had been away more often than usual lately. Of course, they were. Of course, she was. The hell have those nobles gotten her sister doing?! And, of course, like a stubborn idiot, she refuses to take help from anybody. Which was what led to their fight.

Fine. Be that way. Even if Fi disagrees, she'll find a way to gather that much coin, anyway. Even if she has to do it on her own, because, uh, she might have said a little too much. It might be best to let things cool down for a bit.

Farina marched her way over to her pegasus, still fuming with anger and newfound determination. She'll get that gold, even if she had lie, cheat and steal her way to get it. But, right now, only one thing was true of her most of all. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Murph."