#zephia vc maybe if griss attacks my students they'll leave me alone about bumping up their grade :weary:

[ruinakete]

"You're not supposed to kill anyone," Griss says, but behind the excitement in his eyes and smile, it's hard to tell if he believes it. Or cares. Standing to Zephia's left, he stares off at the rest of the field and its blend of colors: red like blood, blue like bruises, gold like...

A horn blares and his head snaps up toward the cliffs, the thought severed before it can finish. A southerly breeze swells and rushes through the crowd. The flags snap and flutter over the hush.

Griss tosses his head to brush the hair out of his eyes as he glances back at Zephia, meeting her two-toned eyes with a toothy grin.

"But that doesn't mean you can't rough 'em up real nice. I hope I go home with a nice reminder." He extends his arm, flips it over to examine the underside, then points to his ribs underneath and laughs. "Maybe right here."

OF COURSE NOT," comes the amused hum of the mage dragon, flexing her claws in arches and curls until a satisfying crack lets the tension within her simmer, "the monastery is not likely to support more. . . fitting practices like peer elimination. unfortunate, dear, i know. you need not tell me."

but griss does not, for both kin and herself are silenced by the abrupt blaring of a horn overhead, drawing their curt attention yet losing it all the same. it is almost startling how unfamiliar she feels here; poised to stand beneath the colors of a banner she knows little of, to support the house of a dragon she knew not existed until weeks ago. though she cannot be solemn now, can she? not when her hound meets her eyes with the excitement of a child first getting his hands on his master's tome.

home, he speaks so easily of.

zephia offers him a smile, arms crossed over her chest and head canted down to see where he points. a fit of sweetly natural laughter leaves her in an exhale despite herself. "and i hope your opponents gift you that pleasure! hm-hm, only a fool would be unable to, after all. but, if they do not, then you may find me instead."

sangria eyes flit elsewhere, narrowing to the expanse of the battlefield before them; not ignorant to the flags fluttering overhead, easily bent to the wind. she has only seen rafal once. . . may lord sombron grant her the blessing of a closer vantage point, then. an eye into the natural state of any fell child. . .

"griss. i expect to hear the upset whines of my students after this battle, yes? complaining about a hound who nearly tore them apart to-day." and with that━━━and a harsh flick of her wrist, striking griss' shoulder as if a good luck gesture━━━zephia turns to leave. a fanged grin is given in farewell, "simply tend to them, darling. that is all."