burningquake

[burningquake]

[ manicure ] sender paints receiver’s nails !

nonverbal meme prompts (Accepting)

With no innate interest, two older brothers, and a close friend group consisting solely of boys, Ingrid was quite sure she’d painted nails a grand total of–maybe–twice, and poorly, at that. Her third attempt was not going any better.

Her brow was furrowed with concentration, her head bent increasingly lower as she worked meticulously at filling in the nail of Dorothea’s index finger with a pale blue paint–a color she had mercifully been spared from choosing herself. 

The problem, besides general inexperience, was that Ingrid could not get the paint to go on in anything resembling an even layer. The more she went over it with the brush, the worse it seemed to get. The middle finger had been decent, albeit a little heavily painted, and Ingrid could not help glancing back and forth between the two nails, comparing. It was so obviously subpar, certainly not up to the standards of someone like Dorothea. And just when she’d finally managed a streaky-but-full coverage, she flicked the brush a little too far, and swiped a smudge of blue over the cuticle. 

“Oh no.” Ingrid jerked her head up, narrowly missing Dorothea’s chin. “Sorry,” she said, grimacing, then sighing. “I am really not cut out for this, but if you have any critique, I’ll gladly accept it. Ah, who am I kidding–you must have some critique.”

[burningquake]

Inside, it was quiet. Outside, there was a smattering of shouts, sounds of daily student activity. Ingrid shifted restlessly despite knowing she was in no shape to join them. She was of no use in here either, bedridden, watching Rinea bustle about, and was unaccustomed to being fussed over by anyone not connected to her family. Rinea’s attention wasn’t unwelcome; it was rather calming, actually, just foreign.

Ingrid received the offered cup with both hands and a murmured, “Thank you.” She settled it into her palms, feeling the heat bloom against her skin. The herbal scent was more potent now, in the steam rising from the tea, but not unpleasant.

She blew over its surface, took a tentative-yet-sizeable sip. Her eyes widened. The flavor was not so different from the smell, but more complex than she’d expected. She assessed another sip. The warmth slipped soothing down her inflamed throat.

“It’s surprisingly good, for medicine,” Ingrid decided, nodding. “I would be curious to know the recipe. If it is effective, I wonder… if it might prove helpful to share with the people of my county. With”–a hasty addition–“your permission, of course. I’ve been fortunate as the daughter of a noble house, but our people are poor and this seems a resourceful way of dealing with sickness.”

“Although…” She took another whiff of the tea, then frowned thoughtfully at Rinea. “I’m not sure I recognize the flavors aside from–the honey, and ginger, maybe? I cannot imagine it was easy to gather the same ingredients so far from your land.”

Home Grown Medicine

continued from (x)

[burningquake]

nonverbal  meme  prompts ↪  they  seem  few  &  far  between,  so  i  tried  to  come  up  with  as  many  scenarios  as  i  could  think  of  where  dialogue  wasn’t  a  necessary  starting  point.  some  are  more  uh  specific  than  others  /  drabble-y,  but  they’re  all  dialogue-free  (  tho  ofc  this  does  not  necessarily  extend  to  the  response  itself  ).  to  reverse  who  sends  what,  send  ‘  [  prompt  ]+  ’  !  alter  any  as  you  see  fit,  &  lemme  know  if  anything’s  unclear  ♡

[  pull  ]  sender  pulls  receiver  closer  to  them

[  touch  ]  sender  places  their  hand  affectionately  on  receiver

[  guide  ]  sender  helps  receiver  through  a  difficult  video  game

[  lean  ]  sender  leans  on  receiver

[  pierce  ]  sender  helps  receiver  with  a  new  piercing  (  doing,  aftercare,  etc  )

[  sit  ]  sender  sits  in  receiver’s  lap

[  spar  ]  sender  pins  receiver  down  in  a  practice  fight

[  cook  ]  sender  makes  food  for  receiver

[  slide  ]  sender  pushes  an  item  across  the  table  to  receiver

[  kiss  ]  sender  kisses  (  lips,  cheek,  forehead,  hand,  etc  )

[  lead  ]  sender  leads  receiver  someplace

[  wound  ]  sender  injures  muse  in  a  fight  (  practice  or  real  )

[  snap  ]  sender  takes  a  photo  of  receiver  (  candid  or  posed  )

[  drape  ]  sender  drapes  their  arm  around  receiver’s  shoulders

[  bullet  ]  sender  takes  a  bullet  for  receiver  (  literal  or  figurative  )

[  nap  ]  sender  falls  asleep  against  receiver

[  teeth  ]  sender  bears  teeth  at  receiver

[  trace  ]  sender  traces  one  of  receiver’s  scars

[  cocktail  ]  sender  makes  /  gives  receiver  a  cocktail

[  comfort  ]  sender  comforts  receiver  when  they  are  upset  /  crying

[  bouquet  ]  sender  surprises  receiver  with  a  bouquet

[  massage  ]  sender  gives  receiver  a  massage  (  planned,  spontaneous,  full  body,  shoulder,  etc  )

[  mentor  ]  sender  takes  muse  under  their  wing

[  tattoo  ]  sender  helps  receiver  with  a  new  tattoo  (  doing,  aftercare,  etc  )

[  dare  ]  receiver  acts  out  a  dare  from  sender

[  hug  ]  sender  pulls  receiver  into  a  hug

[  phone  ]  receiver  sees  sender  smiling  at  something  on  their  phone

[  popcorn  ]  sender  makes  popcorn  for  a  movie  night

[  wake  ]  sender  tries  to  wake  receiver

[  groom  ]  sender  tries  to  make  receiver  look  more  presentable

[  flower  ]  sender  places  a  flower  behind  receiver’s  ear

[  sad  ]  sender  looks  at  receiver  sorrowfully

[  playlist  ]  sender  curates  a  playlist

[  fashion  show  ]  sender  tries  to  help  receiver  choose  an  outfit

[  shield  ]  sender  steps  between  receiver  and  danger

[  bandage  ]  sender  helps  bandage  up  receiver’s  wounds

[  duel  ]  muses  get  into  a  fight

[  fear  ]  sender  finds  receiver  having  a  nightmare

[  hold  ]  sender  holds  receiver’s  hand

[  bruise  ]  sender  finds  receiver  with  a  bruise  /  tries  to  help  receiver  cover  up  a  bruise

[  brush  ]  sender  brushes  /  styles  /  dyes  receiver’s  hair

[  portrait  ]  receiver  paints  a  portrait  of  receiver

[  assist  ]  sender  helps  the  receiver  with  a  task  they’re  struggling  in

[  wow  ]  sender  does  something  to  really  amaze  receiver

[  glare  ]  sender  is  still  hurt  after  an  argument

[  roast  ]  muses  roast  marshmallows  together  /  make  s’mores

[  shoot  ]  muses  attend  a  game  of  paintball

[  diary  ]  receiver  writes  a  journal  entry  about  sender  (  maybe  they  find  it  ?  )

[  dance  ]  sender  whisks  receiver  onto  to  ‘  dance  floor  ’  (  can  be  actual  or  pretend  )

[  rest  ]  sender  rests  their  chin  on  receiver’s  head  /  shoulder

[  manicure  ]  sender  paints  receiver’s  nails

[  tuck  ]  sender  tucks  in  receiver’s  shirt,  hair  behind  ear,  etc

[  chin  ]  sender  lifts  receiver’s  chin  up

[  lap  ]  sender  puts  their  feet  in  receiver’s  lap

[  write  ]  receiver  writes  sender  a  note

[  play  ]  muses  play  a  board  game  /  card  game  together

[  glance  ]  receiver  catches  sender  looking  at  them

[  ill  ]  sender  takes  care  of  receiver  when  they  are  unwell

[  hearth  ]  sender  lights  a  fire

[  tap  ]  sender  taps  receiver  on  the  shoulder

[  bake  ]  muses  bake  together

[  read  ]  sender  reads  to  receiver

[  study  ]  sender  tries  to  help  receiver  study

[  push  ]  sender  pushes  receiver  in  anger

[  skill  ]  receiver  tries  to  assist  sender  in  learning  a  new  skill

[  coated  ]  receiver  finds  sender  covered  in  blood

[  gesture  ]  sender  motions  for  receiver  to  follow  them

[  downpour  ]  receiver  finds  sender  out  in  the  rain

[burningquake]

“don’t worry. my family swears by this remedy; just let it work its magic and you’ll feel good as new in no time.”

Caring For The Sick Prompts (Accepting)

Ingrid squinted through her headache down at the contents of the jar. She tilted it slightly in her palm, noting the liquid’s viscous consistency, its odd herbal scent, the rich dark hue. It resembled a syrup, or molasses, but Ingrid didn’t recognize the sum of these parts, something that would normally give her more pause. 

Rinea, however, gave the sense that she sincerely, genuinely believed every kind thing she said–at least from the short time Ingrid had known her. Ingrid wanted to believe her too. Besides, this cold, or whatever it was, had reared its head one too many times now. Two too many, really. Ingrid supposed that was her fault for not allowing herself a full and proper recovery to begin with. But she didn’t have multiple days to spare.

“Um, this is unfamiliar to me, so I’m unsure… is this meant to be consumed? Or to be applied topically? Or”–she managed to turn her face just in time to redirect a brief coughing fit–“excuse me, uh, how would I use this, exactly?”

[burningquake]

[ STAY ]: sender decides to stay by the receiver's bedside after learning that they're sick.

The sigh is a heavy one as he sets down the tray. "You should eat something light," the margrave said setting down the tray on the bedside. "However, that's hardly filling, is it?" What he'd brought had been stew rather than soup. "So long as you rest you should be ready to return tomorrow."

Caring For The Sick Prompts (Accepting)

Despite fighting a losing fight against heavy eyelids and a heavier head, Ingrid had managed to drift in and out of sleep since the morning. She wasn’t sure what woke her first–the sound of the Margrave entering the room, or the familiar smell of Faerghan fare. A blessing that this bout of sickness didn’t bring with it a blocked nasal passage.

Still, her enjoyment was tainted by guilt. This was an unintended detour on her way back to the monastery, after all, and Ingrid could not help but chastise herself inwardly for once again relying on Matthias and his house as she had in childhood.

“Thank you, Margrave. It smells wonderful,” she said with a sheepish smile, inclining her head. “I’m sorry again, for the unexpected imposition when you are so busy. Thanks to your hospitality, I’m feeling much better already.” An obvious half-truth, but she leaned over to slide the tray onto her lap, as if to prove her point. “I think well enough to leave this afternoon actually, especially if I have such a warm and hearty meal.”

[burningquake]

CARING FOR THE SICK PROMPTS.

i found this list and kinda fed into it each time i got the flu or a migraine, and u know what, it's just me revealing just how much i love the caring threads and the soft threads and the fondly exasperated "let me help you" threads! use at your pleasure, DO NOT ADD TO THE LIST NOR EDIT IT! i will be changing it accordingly!

" i found you passed out in the kitchen. you wanna stop working yourself so hard? or do i need to keep hitting the gym to carry you to bed every day? "

" you're burning up. "

" your neighbour called me and said you could use a nurse. looks like they were right, too. "

" you were told to take it easy, so... yeah. this is kinda on you. "

" you took a sick day. you NEVER take a sick day. so yeah, i got worried, and i figured i'd come over and keep an eye on you. "

" you texted me a long and incoherent text that held about 90% of the emoji list and about four different languages. figured it wouldn't hurt to drop by and see how you were doing. "

" how long have you been sick for? and don't lie. "

" you look like hell. "

" i brought you some soup; let me heat some up for you? "

" okay. it's time you went to the hospital. "

" hey… hello there, sleeping beauty. you gave me a bit of a scare yesterday. how are you feeling? "

" i swear, if you even think of getting out of that bed… "

" you know when i said to call if it's an emergency? a fever is most DEFINITELY considered an emergency! "

" if you think you're going to work like this, you better think again. "

" don't worry. my family swears by this remedy; just let it work its magic and you'll feel good as new in no time. "

" I don't care about getting sick. i'm not leaving you until you're back to full health. "

" you didn't stop to think that this might happen when you're burning the candle at both ends? "

" yeah, I can play the role of nurse AND say "I told you so" at the same time, actually. "

" you better drink every last drop of this tea, no matter how disgusting it is. "

" i told my boss it was an emergency so they've given me a full week to look after you. "

" quit being so stubborn and get into BED! "

" what part of doctor's orders hasn't sunk in yet? bed rest! for the WEEK! "

" right, where do you keep your saucepans? i'm going to make you my famous noodle soup. it's a cure-all, i'm telling you! "

" hey, unless you're going to the bathroom or the sofa, I don't want to see you out of that bed. got it? "

" when are you gonna start letting people look after you, huh? "

" i know, i know, i turned off all the lights once i figured you had the migraine. you want some tea? water? "

" don't be mad, but i saw your fridge, and... it frightened me. so i've taken you back to my place, and i'm gonna get deliveroo to bring some groceries to your place tomorrow. okay? "

" i know your appetite is a little off, so i ordered in a whole tonne of options. just try a little bit of something, please? for me? "

" i've brought half a pharmacy, enough movies and boardgames to last us a decade, and every single snack i could fit into the basket at the grocery store. so sit your butt down, eat your soup, and try and make the most of your bed rest for the next week, will you? "

ACTION PROMPTS ( SEND THE FULL LINE! and feel free to reverse if u wish! ):

[ TOUCH ]: sender gently rests a hand against the receiver's forehead to check their temperature.

[ DAMP ]: sender presses a cool cloth against the receiver's face, neck and forehead to try and lower their fever.

[ BLANKET ]: sender wraps another blanket around the receiver to try and stop them from shivering.

[ SPOON ]: sender gently coaxes spoons of soup into the receiver's mouth to build up their strength after an illness.

[ CARRY ]: sender, finding the receiver weakened/unconscious on the floor, immediately lifts them up and carries them back to bed.

[ AROUND ]: sender keeps a protective arm around the receiver to help them walk without the risk of stumbling or collapsing.

[ STAY ]: sender decides to stay by the receiver's bedside after learning that they're sick.

[ HAIR ]: sender smooths back the receiver's hair in a soothing gesture to try and help them go back to sleep.

[ TILT ]: sender tips a bottle of water up for the receiver to sip from.

[ HUM ]: sender hums/sings to soothe a sick receiver back to sleep.

[ BACK ]: sender gently rubs the receiver's back, either to soothe them or warm them while they're unwell.

[ SHARE ]: sender climbs into the receiver's sickbed with them, wrapping their arms around them to offer warmth and comfort.

[ SHOWER ]: sender, learning the receiver has a high fever, takes a cold shower with them in order to lower their temperature.

[ WAKEN ]: the receiver wakes up in bed, having been found unconscious by the sender and carried into the bed from the floor.

[ QUARANTINE ]: the sender and receiver, both being sick, decide to quarantine together and spend the recovery period with each other.

[burningquake]

Ingrid could not help her widening smile. Yuzu’s unbridled enthusiasm reminded her so much of her younger self, hungrily tackling book after book between training and lessons and the rosy hours out tumbling in snow. She’d had less time for it the older she grew, and it had seemed equally less prudent to steal away time with those pages in the midnight dark of her room, although she indulged when possible. From the way Yuzu told it, Ingrid would not be surprised if her classmate had a better grasp—at the moment—on the book’s contents than Ingrid herself. She really ought to brush up on it.

“Oh, well, I’m not sure what you’ve heard,” Ingrid answered. “Lately, there has been… some debate over the soundness of Othmar the Old’s teachings. I’ll admit that I haven’t heard of him penning any works besides this one, nor is there any record of his deeds in our—in Faerghan history, but I don’t think that disqualifies his wisdom.” She paused, mouth pressed thoughtfully. That didn’t paint the author in the most flattering light, but Ingrid was loath to lie, even by obscuring fact; hopefully Yuzu agreed with her. 

“The way I see it,” she continued, “the skeptics don’t understand that knighthood requires both discipline and sacrifice. They’re more concerned with the easiest, most efficient path. For example…”—Ingrid combed her memory—“in one of the earlier chapters, he writes that one must always take pride in being a knight, and announce oneself before an opponent, right? To never deny your identity? Well, it’s no doubt easier to launch a sneak attack if you forego such things, but in doing so, you also deny you and your opponent an honorable battle. These things may be difficult to adhere to, of course, but I believe a knight should strive for them. Ah–” 

A longer pause this time, and the onset of a light heat in her cheeks when Ingrid realized how much she’d spoken. “I’d be curious to know what bits in particular caught your attention. I must confess, it has been some time since I’ve picked up the book myself, so it would be lovely to hear from a fresh reader.”

it's not easy being a knight

pearlescent: non mission task board (lance +1)

[burningquake]

Ingrid was not good at being in places she wasn’t meant to be. Sure, she’d done her fair share of childhood sneaking out, but trespassing onto someone’s property? That was different. But she was here for a purpose. The Church was relying on her to guide Professor Saizo through the unfamiliarity of Fódlan’s intricacies, and she would see this through. 

She wasn’t sure how much more help she could be here though, now in the depths of the hedge maze. The brambly walls, seemingly endless in breadth, rose too high around them. Swathes of shadow darkened the pale winter grass beneath their feet despite the afternoon sun. Ingrid’s skin crawled with unease; she found herself wishing she had wings handy. Only wishful thinking. A pegasus, if spotted, would be a dead giveaway. So she’d tried to keep track of the turns they’d made–left, two rights, two lefts, right, left, perhaps–imagining their trajectory as viewed from above, but they were moving fast; she could no longer be sure her mental map was accurate. Hopefully, Saizo was better with directions. His years of experience with infiltration did at least bring her some comfort.

A howl cut through the still air for the second time, lingering. A third joined it. The dogs were far, but undeniably closer than the first time. Ingrid tensed momentarily, then called out, only just loud enough to be heard, “Hey, Professor Saizo!” Tugging her hood more securely over her head, she jogged a few steps to catch up. She continued, with some trepidation, “Do you figure that maybe… we should head toward the dogs? I was thinking–the closer we are to them, the closer we might be to this cellar, if it does exist.” Certainly, the dogs could not be anything so out of the ordinary. Even the fiercest hunters were fallible.

@hoshidosflame

pspspspsps

pearlescent: mission task board (riding +1)

[burningquake]

Ingrid truly didn’t plan to become a regular at the perpetual stew pot, but the countless possible evolutions of its flavor profile enticed her; so much could change over two weeks. Although it hadn’t been anything extraordinary, the good results from her first visit emboldened her to both proclaim the stew’s merits to anyone that asked, and to visit again. And she was certainly not going to give up the opportunity while she had a willing volunteer with whom to partake. 

She waited for Shez by the doorway into the room–their designated rendezvous point, slightly early as usual, a bag of herbs in hand as her carefully chosen offering today. Inside, the old woman kept her diligent vigil stirring the pot. The scent that filled the space was different this time: still a base of savory, but layered with something a little sweeter, maybe tart. Ingrid was still taking covert staccato lungfuls of the air, trying to analyze the smell when she spotted her companion for the day.

“Shez, hello,” she greeted with a nod, smiling warmly. “Thank you for accompanying me. You’re braver than most.” Her eyes flickered down, scanning. “Did you bring anything to add?”

@bladeunbound

yelp reviews would never lie

pearlescent: non mission task board (perpetual stew)

[burningquake]

For the second time, Ingrid felt her heart dropping, shaken, from where it had threatened to jump up her throat. Even as Dimitri moved away from where he’d shielded her, her eyes trained on him. But she had her directions; she would fulfill them. 

Nodding gratefully in return, Ingrid backed out of the stall ahead of her Prince and their charge. She clicked her tongue. “Good girl. Come with us,” she beckoned. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Her reassurances continued regardless of their truths, solid and soothing, or so Ingrid hoped. She started down the broad aisle of the stables, maintaining a half-turned posture and ample room to ensure that both her and Dimitri would not be clipped by hoof or wing. Perhaps easier said than done, for even if they managed to keep the mare calm enough, disarray churned on around them. 

As Ingrid sidestepped a groom, she couldn’t help pausing to address Dimitri instead. “Your Highness. It may not be my place, but… I’ll have to ask you to avoid needlessly throwing yourself in front of any large flailing animals in the future.” Despite the anxious pounding in her head and the sincerity of her plea, there was a hint of amusement nudging at the corner of her mouth. Ingrid flattened her lips as she caught it. But she couldn’t shake the parallel of this unlikely moment to a more carefree time: when she still used Your Highness and Dimitri interchangeably in her mind, before the years had whittled them into the forms they took now.

The thought was the briefest flash; a sharp snort brought Ingrid’s attention whipping back to her left to catch sight of a wyvern’s great head reaching out of a stall, only for the pegasus’s restless wing to graze its snout. It let out a shriek. The effect was immediate–and expected: the pegasus leapt violently sideways across the aisle. Ingrid was already lunging forward, helpless across the distance she’d so carefully kept, but reaching nonetheless.

“The lead!” she shouted. “Drop the lead!” If the pegasus decided to bolt, Goddess forbid, then perhaps at least they could avoid her taking Dimitri with her.

sleepless hours from sundown

[burningquake]

Word in the dining hall suggested there was something new brewing, something not for the weak-stomached. Ingrid, naturally, was already captivated by the possibility of new delicacies; questions of edibility were of little concern to her. Besides, a perpetual stew didn’t sound so risky. If everything was kept boiling, then surely, there wouldn’t be an issue. Ingrid could picture it vividly already, and it brought back a bittersweet nostalgia of childhood: a large pot of soup kept through many hard, cold winter days, cloudy depths wringing every drop of flavor and nutrition from precious bones.

It didn’t take long for Ingrid to track down the stew once she set herself to it. Before leaving, she picked up and prepared some onions and dried tomatoes. That only seemed fair, a contribution in exchange for being fed.

The savory smell guided her in at the end, wafting rich and hearty through the cool air. There was the old woman with the massive pot, as rumored. A couple partakers. And–wasn’t that the person from the ball? The one who had passed her their unwanted crepe? Ingrid’s eyes darted to the bowl of soup in their hands. Could it too be destined for the trash? For a second, Ingrid thought to ignore the distraction, but she could not in good conscience allow the risk of a potentially wasted meal go unattended. Besides, their previous brief interaction had barely given her any time to place their familiar face in her memory. Mind made up, Ingrid approached. 

“Excuse me,” she said, a little more forcefully than she’d intended. “You aren’t planning on throwing that out, are you?”

＊⠀(un)fortunately, nothing lasts forever.

MISSION BOARD : PEARLESCENT , PERPETUAL STEW .

[burningquake]

Lately, Ingrid couldn’t tell if her relatively meager progress was causing her frustration, or if her frustration was causing her to plateau. It was not for any lack of effort. She spent more time poring over books on lance exercises and maneuvers in the library, putting their theories to the test at the training grounds, trying to balance it all with enough rest.

Rest. It usually came easily enough to her, rarely in full and unadulterated bliss, but in adequate measure. Ingrid took it in whatever form she could muster, as a means to an end. It was growing increasingly elusive these days, out of reach behind the haze of thoughts clouding her mind. Miklan, reappearing. Sylvain, gone home. The miracle of Burrowhaven, a sliver of hope for Galatea, slipping away. Her friends, stronger by the day, moon, year. She, floundering.

At least she could count on Felix to never turn down a chance at crossing weapons–this was one thing she could do. All the better that her introspection could go unsaid with him. In the early dusk, Ingrid lowered herself into position again, having lost count of the number of rounds they’d sparred long ago. She knew she had already peaked for the day, and was now on sharp decline, but still she called, “Ready!” and began to circle opposite Felix in the training ground, ignoring the sweat freezing beneath her rumpled bangs and her aching hands. 

Her limbs tensed in waiting, heading off a tremble. In the lengthening pause between them, Ingrid seized her chance and aimed her weight through her right hand, positioned toward the back end of her training lance. "Hrgh!" She lunged, thrust it low, toward Felix’s knees.

@wolfhednn

thrashing on the line

[burningquake]

Ingrid bent to the next bunch of nettles, working her trowel into the hardened earth. It was difficult to focus though. She regretted her choice to assign Sylvain the wheelbarrow of soil almost immediately. He looked so frighteningly small, kneeling beside her now, unbalanced on solid ground, curtains drawn tight on his usual grandiose self. It was clear that he was holding back, in some kind of pain. 

But she also sensed that he needed this buffer of doing something. They both did, this cold patch of dirt between them to soak up the viscous flow of greater, deeper hurts.

Ingrid barely flinched at his comment. The only acknowledgement was a slight deepening of her frown, and then, “Hm, that’s funny, because for all your mingling with girls, I didn’t once see you with them, despite my searching for well over an hour, if not more.”

She yanked a weed out, threw it toward the bucket. It caught on the rim, half-in, half-out. She grimaced, sighed, and faced Sylvain in full, any bite gone from her voice now. “I saw Miklan. At the stables–and before you ask, I’m fine.” She paused. “But you’re not. Did he hurt you?”

It wasn’t the right question, Ingrid knew in her gut. Sylvain had been off for longer than they’d been back: the stiffness was an older ailment, maybe just one of many symptoms that Ingrid couldn’t name. She just knew for certain that something had cracked the night of the ball, and she was nudging at the edges of the fissure with the only question she had access to, because she had to know, because she was afraid to not know.

“Don’t lie to me, Sylvain. Please.”

wormwood in the garden

[burningquake]

The new moon brought with it an unexpected nostalgia, only bolstered by the cold winds of the north that Ingrid knew so well. She didn’t know where the trend started, but she began to notice a familiar little tome in the possession of a number of classmates and even staff, familiar sayings being shared. A moment of harmless eavesdropping during supper and a polite question confirmed that yes, indeed, one of her old favorite books was making the rounds at Garreg Mach.

Ingrid was pleased. She wished for her own battered copy of Regarding Knights and Chivalry, which sat on her bookshelf back home. It was probably dusty; Ingrid hadn’t opened it in many years now. And surely, she didn’t need to revisit, when she’d so thoroughly studied it as a child and committed its words to heart.

It wasn’t long before voices began to rise in opposition, complaining of the book’s impracticality and foolishness, that its teachings would only make their lives more difficult. Ingrid found herself having to exercise restraint, and content herself with shaking her head. How could they not see?—the way of honor and chivalry was always meant to be the harder, less-traveled route. Perhaps she should heed the teachings–”never refuse the challenge of an equal, lest you dishonor both parties”–and stand up to these naysayers.

For today though, she was happy to see Yuzu with a copy of the book and seemingly no plans to disparage it. Ingrid waited until after class to catch up with her, leaving a few extra minutes so as not to seem too eager to a classmate with whom she hadn’t conversed with much.

“Hello, Yuzu,” she greeted, brows raised with an inquiring smile. “I see you have a copy of Regarding Knights and Chivalry. It’s a wonderfully informative book, isn’t it? I’m glad you haven’t been deterred by the skeptics–um, I hope, at least.”

@craneswings

it's not easy being a knight

pearlescent: non mission task board (lance +1)

[burningquake]

may activity check

Skill Points Earned: 1

+1 monthly activity

Allocated: Lance +1 (D > D+) Skill Point Total: 4 > 5

Rank Rewards Earned: -

Classes Accessed: - Classes Mastered: -

[burningquake]

wanted plots: june

Riding+1 (needs unaffiliated): I like the idea of Ingrid admiring the garden and ending up in a situation with dogs, thinking she can bite off more than she can chew, someone potentially gets hurt, but there’s a handy cellar with supplies they can use to bandage and rest up, except it’s not any old cellar. Or this could go any direction. (yes, this is partially also me wanting that Riding point)

Perpetual Stew: Ingrid has probably had a version or two or three of this before, and she’s not about to miss out on another. Could be a “going to try it” situation and/or an aftermath situation where Ingrid roped someone into it, had a stronger stomach due to her childhood situation with Galatea's famine, and now the other person is sick and Ingrid is big sorry. Or anything else but she’s got to get her hands on this!

Feel free to DM or ping on Discord, or message me here!

[burningquake]

[ STABLES ]

Of course that bitch was here. If Ingrid was going to fly after the little degenerate like the harpy she was, of course her landing grounds was going to be in the stables. And of course—while checking to see if his booze was packed—Miklan had to run into her of all people. If the Margrave let her chase after House Gautier's heir or if Count Galatea needed the money that badly, the brigand didn't care. Clutching his visor down and making slow strides, he approached the courier grounds in a slow stalk.

Ingrid was on her second visit to the stables, this time to groom the pegasus she’d borrowed from the monastery. She felt extra responsibility to ensure his wellbeing, and it was a much-needed respite from the festivities. As she ran a brush over his coat, his ears, which had been tuning themselves to the ambient noises, suddenly swung forward, then flattened backward. Ingrid spun around. 

An armored figure was approaching, broad-shouldered, donning a familiar blue of the Kingdom. But Ingrid’s eyes drew upward, above the helm.

The wild tuft of hair that emerged there was an unmistakable red, the same as Sylvain’s, but this was decidedly not Sylvain: everything was wrong. 

Ingrid’s mind raced as she tensed. Could it be possible? Could Miklan be here, in Adrestia? At this grand and vetted celebration? And if he was, what were his aims? And could she be wrong? It had been many years since she last saw him, after all.

It took all Ingrid’s self-control to keep from spitting her suspicions. She didn’t want to offend with a false accusation. So, closing the door of the stall behind her and mustering a voice that stayed miraculously even for the conflict stewing within, she called out, “I believe there is no need for a full helm here, if you would please show yourself. Who are you?”