wingboundwarrior

[wingboundwarrior]

Not quite professor. That is correct... she should have remembered. He is a teaching aide, not a professor. That was her mistake, but... If he wanted her to call her ‘Lukas’, wouldn’t he simply call her ‘Fiora’, too? Pointing that out was too impolite, however, so she kept it locked inside, silent, and went back to staring at the world around them. Not a scratch on him? How... something. It must feel bad. As bad as her — falling quickly, easily, her lance hardly of any use to anyone, her hardly of any use to anyone, as normal. She’d even heard talk, after she was done being patched and speaking to Lloyd and Lysithea, that Griss had survived, even after all of that. She may feel annoyed, if she could feel anything at all, could summon any anything from the deep waters of her soul. But as it is, she’s shallow, or dried up, and casts a line into nothing, cold, bare stone.

She balances an elbow back on an outstretched knee, chin in a palm, eyes boring into the world around her with razor focus.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lukas,” she says, softly.

She hopes it sounds genuine to his ears, even if it doesn’t to hers.

She’s sure Fiora would be sorry to hear that, after all. She’s sure Fiora would care, quite deeply, about what was going on with Lukas.

What does she see out there? That’s a dangerous question. “I see... a world, alive,” she says, carefully, slowly. She doesn’t say, one that I don’t belong in, but it’s there, all the same, somewhere beneath her words.

“How is your head?” She looks back at him, blank again, faraway. It sounds like a question she would ask. How is he doing, how has he healed. That sort of thing.

It Wouldn’t Mean A Thing If I Told You How I Feel

[wingboundwarrior]

And now is the horrible consideration. Are they lying... or is that even they do not know?

Fiora narrows sharp dark blues at them, considering. The pallor of their faces. The sweat on the back of their necks. The way their eyes trail. The forced casualness of their words.

They’re lying. It’s plain as the sunlight of day, trailing through tree leaf, setting the world alight. It’s as obvious as anything can be. They aren’t being upfront.

One of the clay creatures stares directly at Fiora again, big pleading glowing orbs, and Fiora loses her breath.

Fiora is no longer a leader. She’s put that way of life behind her. She can’t grab the reins of the situation and decide what to do, especially with the life of another behind her. But... how can she walk away from this?

“Our mistake, then,” she says, to the man, staring at them with no trust in his irises.

Another of the men huffs. “You two, get in the sky, scan for any more monsters!”

“Yes, sir.” Huxley climbs above the cover of the leaves as easily as though he were walking on grass. Fiora waits for Cynthia, and follows her to talk. “Cynthia, they are lying. About the clay creatures.”

The Ancients

[wingboundwarrior]

July Activity

Status: Passed! Skill Points Gained: 1

Activity ➜ +1 Flying

Skill Changes:

Flying - D+ ➜ C (1/2)

[wingboundwarrior]

This cannot be happening again.

It can’t. How? How can it be happening again? How did she allow it to happen again?

Framed in startling shadows by the rising moon, a red and blue figure stand on a slanted roof, dodging incoming slung arrows and shouts. The two of them have clambered to the edge of the roof, with no way out but to launch themselves to the shingles across from them.

And all Fiora can see is the blood pooling around her arms and feet from when Lukas fell in the cave.

This cannot be happening again. Not again. She can’t— she can’t let him fall. She can’t. So she has to— she must— it’s up to her to—

Planting her feet as well as she can on the tiles, she braces her shoulder against his stomach, and lifts him, arms wrapped around his waist, his legs outstretched before her, his body dangling heavily behind her.

Now she has to— not fall herself. Stay balanced... ignore the pain growing in your bones... breathe steadily... // @deliverred

Failing to Fly

↳ Lukas & Fiora Flying +1‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

[wingboundwarrior]

Oh! 

A familiar voice, hailing her name. Fiora sits up suddenly, wiping bits of grass from herself. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to relax so openly in public… mentally, she rebukes herself. Outwardly, a serene smile paints on her face, greeting young Tine, who comes bearing gift of book and food. Such a kind-hearted girl… “Tine… thank you.” Her eyes close in her simper, offering a wider grin. “Yes, please, join me! It’s good to see you! Are you also working around here, for the time being?” Fiora knew better than to outright say “are you undercover, trying to gather information as well”, but it’s at least a little clear that that’s what she’s hinting at. 

… Her eyes fall to the book in Tine’s hand. Something about… chivalry? Her interest in instantly piqued, a more serious expression molding her face as she reads the title and tries to ascertain what it is that’s going on in it. Do people really need a book to tell them those sorts of things?…

Underchivalry

↳ Fiora & Tine Lance +1

[wingboundwarrior]

He unveils a truth to her, gently and quietly — that he doesn’t feel pain as one should — and though Fiora is startled, she refuses to let it show, a mask of emptiness settling over her face instead. He doesn’t feel the pain? That certainly would be helpful in a life as a foot soldier. What did that extend to? How much of pain did he not feel? Was it just physical, or were emotional pains numbed, too? If she could be more calloused, more scar-tissue than bleeding, bleating heart, oh, what a perfect, right warrior she’d be— 

He goes on, and her attention is snapped from her. As much as Fiora hates to admit it, Lukas is right. Even with the strength she’d cultivated over the years, she isn’t sure she actually has the power to pull the both of them up over the rope before it frays again — especially with how weak the bones in her fingers and hands wish to be, in recent days. Even so, the image of him sitting up twists everything in her uncomfortably. 

“You aren’t thinking straight,” she rushes out, voice hard as her face, brow scrunched and lips a serious, unsure line. “You wish to traverse the cave? The cave we heard might be full of adventure, and that is why the students brought us along? Adventure means danger. You are already in bad shape. If something were to attack us… we’d be completely unprepared. And there may be no way out the cave but for the opening here. And do we have time to wander around? You’re bleeding badly… I am worried about blood loss.” He should be, too. Perhaps his feelings really were dulled. “Our only option might be me lifting us both out of here.” 

Nothing Bad Ever Happened To Cave Divers

Affluence (+1 Bow)

[wingboundwarrior]

Oh, of course, it’d be hard to see the board from the sky, in the middle of a battle! Just as it might be hard to hear spoken word. Fiora nods, complete understanding. Her eyes, though, glow as the board is unveiled, and she watches the piece that indicates ‘her’ being moved around an enemy piece. She does understand, almost instinctively, entirely without words. Fiora nods again, more diligently, hands coming to fold on her lap, imagining following the path tread on the board in the sky. She’s so caught up that she’s about to ask questions about where she’s meant to go — but then she remembers that this isn’t real, and there’s no enemy she’s keeping a berth from.

“Is this how you communicate with Lady Lyndis, Lord Hector, and Lord Eliwood?”

Give Me a Sign

[wingboundwarrior]

Children?!

All this time — he’s spoken of nieces, and nephews, brothers and sisters, but... he’d failed to mention... his own children. She sits there, a little gobsmacked, but expression kindly thoughtful, rather than sharing the shock that’s settled over her. Children of his own...

“I suppose so,” she replies, gently. “I just... I need to do better, for them.”

They were still watching, after all. Even if they were much older, now... She still had to be better for them.

‘Came out on top’... That was his impression of her. Well, she’d survived her trials, in his eyes, hadn’t she? But really, she’d stumbled into a new set, ones much more impossible. Ones that froze her and tied her down by the ankles.

“I didn’t realize you had children... How many do you have?”

Bottom of the Ocean

[wingboundwarrior]

Fiora has been fine this entire time. Planning, training, deciding — all of it has been alright. But something about Lapis saying the word together — it wrings something within her. Instantly, she envisions Lapis falling to monster fang, sharp and unyielding, quick against soft flesh. Her heart seizes. Something forms in her throat, the weight of stone, the size of a fist. Her legs feel weak.

“Together,” she repeats, much quieter than Lapis’ proclamation. Fiora drags herself onto Huxley’s back, willing the shaking of her hands to still around her as she calls Huxley into the air. “Excuse me,” she says, and even through the fear, she still manages to feel a bit embarrassed as she loops an arm around Lapis to keep her from falling off as he takes to the skies.

The wind is nice, soothing as always — it blows back both of their hair, whispers promises that all will be well. But her stomach remains in uncomfortable, shifting knots, nearly distracting her from—

There!

She spots the creatures just below the tree-line. “See them, Lapis? Get ready!”

Fiora hates how sick she feels, as the moment of battle nears. (She shouldn’t feel this way. It won’t happen again. And even if it does— oh, her stomach lurches at the consideration. Oh, okay, don’t think of that right now. Focus on the battle. The battle — she’ll just protect Lapis. She’ll make sure nothing happens, she’ll... do better this time. She won’t fail again. She can’t fail again, she’ll—...)

Between leaf cover, they land. Fiora releases Lapis, readies her lance, and steadies her breath.

I can do this.

     Lapis meets Fiora's questioning, brows furrowed and spirits high.  “ As ready as I'll ever be! Thanks for teaching me. ”

But even with the fire in her heart stoked, she still retains her humble nature, speaking her gratitude where it ought to go in softer tones. It's easier to feel at ease and confident when one sees that real smile grace their teacher's lips, sparking security where things might have seemed rockier earlier.

Fiora's serious attitude, not cutting corners, makes it count all the more.

“ Let's kick some monster butt! ”  Lapis mounts Fiora's pegasus again, clearly much more practiced in that regard too now. Her blade remains fixed in place at her side.  “ When we get there, I'll drop down and cut a path so you can help follow me up. Together! ”

[wingboundwarrior]

When he speaks, his voice is quiet — nearly hollow. Fiora watches him, dark blues serious with a furrowed brow above, as he reveals... that he is a monster, too. She considers his words seriously, with the same stoicness she has been wearing all afternoon... but she comes to her conclusion rather easily. It must be self-loathing that is possessing him to speak this way. After all, he had just admitted his own wish to no longer live.

That, and... it seems there are others that don’t treat him well. I know when they have no interest in me. Hated for what he is, rather than who he is... a horrible quandary.

But no monster does that make him. That makes him... well, a repressed individual in a society. It speaks nothing of his heart. It isn’t like being turned into a morph — your body used without your soul. He’s still in his, isn’t he?

“What makes these monsters so bad?” She gazes at him from atop a fist, rested on her knee, seemingly comfortable for the difficult conversation she’s begun. “What is it you do that condemns you?”

What It Means to Be Alive

[wingboundwarrior]

Usually, Fiora would immediately correct the misunderstanding about her sisters being lucky to have her — for it was her that was lucky to have her sisters, and her who was a burden on them, despite how hard she had worked for the opposite. But Tine’s tears stalls any thoughts that Fiora has about saying such things. Instead, she’s left in silence, wondering what it is she might have said to have made her cry so.

She’s still knelt by Tine’s side — lips part, trying to find words that will staunch tears. Her heart races, contracts in worried, fevered paces. She cannot leave her like this. And if she wasn’t sure it was her who had made her cry, she would wrap her in a hug. But it was her fault, wasn’t it? Oh... what to do...

“Tine...” Fiora’s voice is gentle as a breath of wind drawing ripples over a lake... sorrow drawing eyebrows in a sad quirk. “Do you like cats?”

Take time to heal

[wingboundwarrior]

Numb...? Numb... The word echoes in her head, ringing with some finality, her lips parting and her drifting far away, as she processes it. Can that be... true? Could it just be some sort of... emotional reaction she is having? A veil of nothing, settling over her, rather than something real, something sinister?

“Hah...” A soft noise... she half-bends over herself, smiling humorlessly, face too empty for the strange mixture of saccharine sorrow she always wears. “Is that really all this is...?” Just her being weak, again... Just another piece of her crumbling away... another part coming undone, fraying at the edges. “Forgive me, Soren. If that is the truth, I’ve bothered you with something foolish and meaningless...”

That’s all her own feelings are, after all. That’s all the heart of her is. Perhaps it is much, much better if it is numb, hidden behind many layers of scar tissue, empty and nothing.

An exception being made for someone like myself... “Why would an exception be made for you?” Dark blue eyes glance up, too sharp in the lake of her void. “If one would be made for you, it would be made for me, too.”

What It Means to Be Alive

[wingboundwarrior]

The man, woven of shivering thread taut with anxiety, does as he’s told well, regardless of any greenness or unsureness. He offers the treat, bows to her as though she is his liege lady, and introduces himself silkily. She finds herself impressed.

... Even as sweet Miriam decides to teeth his hair.

She finds herself laughing, lightly — a soft noise behind fingerless gloves, eyes shut momentarily. She should really teach him how to redirect a pegasi’s teething, but the best way to teach is by showing, isn’t it? So she crosses the hay-laden stable and “ah-ah!”s at Miriam, pressing a hand against her face and clicking at her until she gets the idea and releases his hair. “Really, Miriam,” she says, much more conversationally, but still a few notches into the loving lilt, “he has enough to worry about already without you taking his head off.”

Huxley sighs from the hallway, very pointedly. Fiora glances over and can see his neck craning away, deliberate, as though pretending he’s not watching Fiora pay attention to another pegasus.

“It seems everyone’s in a contentious mood this morning,” she tells Levail, lightly, a little conspiratorially. The two humans, speaking among a barn full of pegasi. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well. I am Fiora, a pegasus knight from Ilia. I work with the Knights of Seiros, now.” She folds her right hand over her armor and gives him a small bow.

Soft sun rays from the open stable window frame her aquamarine hair, hung about her shoulders freely. A bird cries its morning song. “What do you think, Levail? Are we feeling brave enough to start attempting the tack together? I’ll keep Miriam steady and direct you on how to place it.”

hell is empty and all the horses are here

pegapony nightmare with fiora!!

[wingboundwarrior]

She waits for his impatience to snap against her, for his anger, for him to complain and tear into her, but the moment she pauses for doesn’t come. He... doesn’t even yell at her. Instead, he laughs it away, stops them by the wall, and talks easily, lightly. Eyes that were trained on the ice slowly float up to him, his gentle face, Fiora clearly bewildered, even though her own expression always seems to have a half of a guard raised over it. Why is he being so nice to her? He was nice when she was late, too... He must just be an exceedingly nice person. She sees Florina in her head, and the tightness in her shoulders unfurls, only slightly.

It is with this knowledge that honesty is pulled from her, though she may have been hesitant with it beforehand. “It’s... very new...” She releases him with one of her hands to push a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “I... do not really talk to people my age. I’m usually... taking care of my sisters, skating, or working. I’m sorry if I am being strange... I haven’t had time for...”

Friends. How pathetic. What a pathetic thing to admit. That, surely, he’ll make fun of.

That, and he was her only chance for getting into Pairs, but... she wouldn’t put that on him. She didn’t want to guilt him into choosing her. If she wasn’t good enough, then she wasn’t good enough.

A Clean Cut Through the Ice

↳ Fiora & Darios, Olympian Ice Skater AU

[wingboundwarrior]

Never in her life has Fiora flown beside a man atop a pegasus. She recalls, briefly, Tibarn’s chastising words to a young boy, aspiring to become a pegasus rider himself, and thus, knows there are things that are possible here that would be impossible — or, at least, frowned deeply upon — in Ilia.

But the anger that she feels blossoming in her chest has very little to do with him being a man.

“Do you mean to say this is your first time working with a pegasus, and this is how they sent you in here?”

The barely restrained fury is cold, the tumbling tundra of her homeland, frozen and smarting as it hits the air. Though the teeth of winter are primed to sink into something, she releases a breath instead, seeks for a warmth within her. He does not deserve her ire. It is not his fault, so far as she knows, that he is in this circumstance.

She wraps the strap of Huxley’s lead around a hook, though she needn’t, really, and unlatches the stable door to let herself in with the shivering stranger.

“Settle down, Miriam, sweetheart. He’s not here to hurt you, is he?” Her voice is now warm, honey-sweet, silk and gentle and pretty. It changes completely when she addresses the man again. One of her hands slips to her small pack, behind her, searching through the contents. “Put down the tack. Bow your head. There’s no need to be afraid of her. She is very sweet. Here.” A small bag of sugar cubes is deposited into his hand. “Put one on your hand and flatten out your palm. Fingers straight and together. Offer it out to her. Talk to her in the same sort of tone I was using. Introduce yourself to her.”

hell is empty and all the horses are here

pegapony nightmare with fiora!!

[wingboundwarrior]

Another day, another patrol in the sky. Fiora’s coming off her four hour nap — three restless hours, that early morning — but she moves through the world with the practiced gracefulness of a dancer that’s rehearsed every movement, every breath, every step on the stage long before she climbed atop it.

Huxley is waiting for his carrots as always, polite and patient but for a glimmer in his eyes and a swish of his tail, and calling to him in the voice of a loving mother, Fiora hand feeds him a few over his oats before she clips and fastens his tack with the easiness of decades of practice and leads him from his stable. He parades himself down the stables, hooves clacking, knees bending tall and proud as always, when Fiora sees a mess of sandy hair disappear to the ground and a pegasus raise her wings.

She darts to the side of the offending stable. There, on the ground, is a... male knight, as far as she can tell, collapsed on the ground, holding in his hands the tack for a pegasus. An aquamarine eyebrow raises, unsure and sharp.

“Can I help you, sir?”

hell is empty and all the horses are here

pegapony nightmare with fiora!!

[wingboundwarrior]

Fiora has been tired for a long time. If she’s being completely honest with herself, she’s not entirely sure when it started. It’d be simple to say that when she came to Garreg Mach and started patrolling at all hours of the day and sleeping in tiny, contained bursts, that she became more tired, but she’d really always been this way, hadn’t she? Volunteering for night watch when under Lord Eliwood’s banner to avoid dreams of her squadron. Guarding the camp when her squadron fell asleep because she was the commander, and it was the right thing to do to protect them herself. Even when she was a child and her sisters fell asleep against her, she’d remained alert as long as she could, before sleep forcefully took her away, and from the moment her mother died, she’d spent waking moments working full days to put food in her sisters’ mouths and clothes on their backs, either at the shore or behind a lance. Nothing has ever changed. So, really, perhaps she’s always been tired, and it’s only becoming unbearable now. But Fiora feels it. A constant pressure in the front of her head. A long, slogging dizziness around her. A full body ache, burning and buzzing and begging for a moment of relief.

She’s exhausted.

This is a verifiable break from her patrols, in some ways, but in others, there’s still so much to do. Her lord has her cleaning this, moving that, arranging this, fixing that, and while she’s amenable, it’s still quite a bit of work. And aside from it all, though she’s not unused to following orders, pretending to be what she is not is tiring in and of itself. One would think she would sleep peacefully each night, with how ragged she was running herself, but...

A voice surprises her — she must have drifted off for a fraction of a second. She struggles to get a hold on herself, beleaguredly looking over to the familiar face, dressed plainly. “Pri— ah...” Right. He’s undercover, as well. “It is... a lot, isn’t it?” She smiles, eyes closing, smile close to a grimace, but just not, just barely held together, just barely held and perfected. “It’s funny, hm? This still comes off so strange to me... a performance of fighting, getting everyone so excited... Is this the sort of thing more profitable countries do?” She can’t imagine, for example, Ilia having a jousting competition, though that would certainly raise spirits. They simply didn’t have the resources and time to waste. And who would come, other than Ilians? No one would sit in the cold, just to watch lancers joust.

A yawn threatens to overtake her. She turns away from him and hides it, over the back of her hand.

“Which guy?” she mumbles, a little tiredly, when she’s back. “Oh, the one favored to win?” A little disappointed sigh falls from her lips. “I hate the way he holds his lance. His grip is like he’s holding a sword. And he swings it around too easily. You can tell it’s too light for him. I suppose they don’t wish to actually hurt each other, though...”

A beat.

“What about you?” As if she’d answered his question at all, in any of that. “How are you doing?”

the counterfeit pearl

         ⤷    mission task:   pearlescent   ( any skill +1 )