bushinto

[bushinto]

Midsommar 2022 : Prompts and Memes Part 2

In for a treat, or just getting tricked?

[ COSTUME ] Forgot your demon costume? Vendors have set up stalls in town offering all sorts of accessories to get customers in the Midsommar spirit. Pointed wax teeth are subtle but expensive, but you don’t need a heavy purse to rent out a glittering cape or a fancy hat. With the damage fines this high, you better be careful not to get them dirty!

[ FORTUNE ] An old witch sits in the shadows of the alley, claiming that she can speak to the dead. She beckons all who pass by to visit her.

[ PERFORMANCE ] This is a festival for street performers! Everywhere you go in Garreg Mach, you’re bound to find some sort of show - from puppet theater to firebreathing and tests of strength and skill. Stop to marvel at Fódlan’s talent, or maybe try showing off your own!

[ SCARE ] Many of the children that run past you are dressed in strange costumes, pretending to be all sorts of characters. Witches, animals, scarecrows… even some of your classmates are showing off sharp false teeth and glittering capes. Costumes like these are part of the festival spirit this time of year!

[ SECRET ] While the festival is supposed to be family-friendly, and indeed more children than usual run through the streets, you catch wind of a tavern in some forgotten alley of the town where one can go for some “adult” entertainment. Like wine tasting. Just wine tasting. (don’t tell the clergy).

[ CARVING ] With the spring harvest comes an abundance of turnips. So many that merchants have brought them to Garreg Mach by the bushel to sell them for Midsommar. Once believed to ward demons and other monsters away if one carved a face into them, the turnip carving tradition is now little more than a fun activity for children to do with their parents.

Food stalls crowd the town square, visitors hawking sweet and savory snacks…

[ PIES ] Spiced meat pies or delicate strawberry pies? Pick one and dig in at this bustling pie stall! The owners have a special challenge, if you choose to accept: any brave soul that can scarf down twenty of these delicious pies will receive a very special prize! 

[ JELLYBEAN ] One particular stall catches your eye: piles of little bean-shaped gummies shine in the lantern’s light, all too colorful to ignore. Clover honey, strawberry, peaches… With so many choices, you can’t help but take your time looking over the vendor’s selection. Strangely, he nods and gives you a knowing look. “Ah, I see. We have the same… interests, do we?” From below the table, the vendor pulls out a heavy wooden box, opening it to reveal an array of jellybeans. While they are as colorful and delectable as the ones on the table, their labels are more than a little troubling. Sweaty socks? Essence of skunk? “Excellent for tricks… though you didn’t get these from me.”

The return of the Magic Club’s special haunted corridors!

[ SHOW OFF ] You, of course, are a brave soul, keen of eye, and have some people to impress. Friends? Crushes? Rivals? You scoff at the mere idea that someone could scare you with some cheap parlor trick and roam about the hallways with crossed arms and plenty of skepticism.

[ SCREAM ] All your friends are gone–dead, probably, when you remember their terrified screams as they thrashed against the firm grip of a bloody butcher with a rabbit mask. You also remember the way the cleaver glinted in the cold light. Your feet pound against the tile as you flee from your pursuer, the butcher’s twin with a chicken’s face and an even bigger knife. You trip, fall, get back up again. You trip, fall–why the hell are you falling so much? A “corpse” springs to life in front of your path, but a solid punch sends them reeling. You don’t look back. All you can do is scream, and run.

[bushinto]

[ DANCE ] -- Dragon offers her hands, hopeful smile pulling at her features. One dance partner gone, she eagerly reaches for another, only this time it isn't to fall into the familiar step of old Nohrian waltzes.

"Show me something from Hoshido?" She nearly lets herself call it home -- for if it is that of her brothers than surely it should be her own as well -- but Corrin catches the slip of her tongue before it's too late. "I should learn more about it, I think. For my mother."

//via midsommar pt. 1; still accepting!

"Hmm... Yes. I believe she would be overjoyed to see you take such an interest in our customs."

It takes nothing more than a moment in thought for Hoshido's High Prince to arrive at that conclusion, knowing his mother and her wishes well. To see Corrin accepted by his family is all she ever truly strived for. It is for her sake that, in spite of Corrin's choice to fight for Nohr, Ryoma will teach her this dance.

(It is for her sake that you have always called them family. The words 'mother' and 'sister' were adopted as an act of goodwill.)

The look on his face is one of kindness and compassion--elated that Corrin wants to dance in the sakura-scented skies of Hoshido--but his tone could not be more direct. It is ever-focused on the duty before him, which today, presents itself as being his sister's instructor. How very 'Ryoma', to be dead-serious about a task even when it makes him happy.

"Though it is still only spring, I shall teach you the dance of the Hoshidan Summer Festival. It is simple to master, and if we of Hoshido would like to hold our own celebration here in Fodlan, you would have the knowledge to join us."

Samurai stalls no longer, beginning straight away with a visual demonstration. He begins by opening his arms in a wide, splaying movement--like rays of light spreading across the morning sky. "Start by moving your arms like this... Try to envision yourself as a rising sun."

He continues, now bending his knees and sliding one foot in front of the other. The motion is similarly slow, meant to be a gentle movement acted out in reverence for the changing of seasons. "Now, move your legs like this! They are the rivers down below, flowing through the land so that we might cool ourselves off from the heat!"

Both moves are then put together, and repeated. Ryoma holds firm in his form as he transitions from one movement to another. First he arcs out left, then after returning to center, does so again on the right. Then it's back to left, and so on, and so forth, until the feeling appears natural.

"That is all there is to it. As long as you practice the basic stances, you should have no trouble learning this dance."

[bushinto]

[ PAIR UP ] Single people get dressed up and paired off with other single people, this is the season of love and baby animals and the older adults won’t tolerate a humbug Singleton. If you already have a special someone, then dive right into the singing and dancing together!

It was a special period of the year here in Fódlan and even if she and her family came from another place, she couldn’t help but dove into the festive atmosphere that also held a rather special occasion for all the couples and especially for the loner hearts: Sakura was certainly fascinated by this sweet opportunity, but most of all, she wanted her beloved brother Ryoma to find the perfect match for him!

Getting all pumped up about the situation, the petite priestess bought some useful stuff he would definitely use to approach the lucky one: flowers, some sweets and a nice parfume made of her aromatic herbs. All done and ready for him!

Making her way to his room, she eventually reached the door, knocking with some difficultu due to all the stuff she was holding in her arms. “It’s me, you sister Sakura!” she announced herself, in the hope he would open the door quite quickly.

//via midsommar pt. 1; still accepting!

Ryoma knows that voice like the back of his hand. He's heard it countless times before, and he knows he'll hear it countless times again. It unmistakably belongs to Sakura, so before she even speaks her name, he's up on his feet. Family comes first; he ought to be prompt.

"Ah, Sakura! How kind of you to pay me a visit."

There is warmth in his smile, the gentle flame of joy stoked by her arrival. To know that she is safe and well, in spite of all that happened back home, brings him great peace. With the truth of Hinoka revealed to him after his duel, and Takumi having been met in Fodlan, that makes everyone here and accounted for.

The Samurai wonders if his mother and father are watching him. They, too, must be excited, to see their children reunited again.

But he doesn't have long to busy his mind with such thoughts. Sakura's hands are crammed quite full! So much so that he'd have to be a fool not to recognize her gift.

"And it seems you've gone the extra mile. Gifts for the festival, I presume?" Ryoma's mind is always one step sharper than his blade, keen on the little things around him--and the implications others would miss. He helps his sister unburden herself by taking the items from her hands, one by one. Each is brought close to his face for him to inspect, with both appearances and scents being taken into account by the samurai. The gifts have an... Oddly femme appeal to them, and the thinks he understands their intent.

"You have my thanks for all of this, Sakura. Though I may be your older brother, I oftentimes find that I would be lost without you..." He lets that hang in the air for a while, tucking all his new presents beneath his arms, before finally grinning again. It's a humorous thought, after all--even if he means it.

"I'll be sure to pick up something for you in return. I hear it is tradition to make flower crowns or carved turnips for those you trust."

[bushinto]

[Samples]

The merchant had called it yakitori. Leo eyed the stick of roasted chicken interspersed with what looked like green onion before ultimately purchasing two.

His conversation with Ryoma during their adventure in vine-covered ruins still echoes in his head. Not strictly the words themselves, but rather what they didn't say. Leo had made little effort to understand anything about Hoshido. He will never make up for such an oversight, though he can try to repair some of the damage.

"Prince Ryoma, do you have a moment?" He offers a plate of yakitori. "Corrin is always encouraging me to socialize more."

//via midsommar pt. 1; still accepting!

It is nice, to finally walk hand-in-hand with Leo.

Mere months ago, the two were fierce enemies--swords drawn at each other's throats, begging for the other to slip up so they could strike. Hell, even as recent as a few weeks ago, they were on very bitter terms. But Ryoma has started to bond with Leo. The sprout of peace is beginning to bloom between them, demanding not that they hold their blades in opposition, but together.

He considers the mage a trustworthy ally--different from the likes of Hans and King Garon. They are not the best of friends, but the scars of war are starting to heal.

"Prince Leo," he greets, giving the other a polite bow before examining his plate, "You have caught me at a good time. I was just entertaining a moment of peace before I would resume with festivities." Nohrian's yakitori earns him a quirked brow from the other prince. It is an interesting peace offering, he'll give him that much. Simple, yet showing that he's willing to step into Hoshidan territory to weave harmony between them. He would be a fool not to accept.

"And what an interesting meal you've brought me! Yakitori... The way it is plated makes it unmistakable." A smile creeps onto his face as he accepts, picking up a single skewer for himself and leaving the rest to Leo. Food is best enjoyed in the company of others, he believes, and the mage ought to try some himself--it's quite good. "I used to eat this sort of thing all the time growing up. It is usually seasoned with a special sauce, but I was always quite alright with just salt."

Light laughter spills from his lips, before he stuffs them with chicken. No use standing around and letting it grow cold, he figures. When he bites into it, he finds the taste nostalgic. Much like he just said aloud, the dish brings him back. It's the saucy kind, not the salt kind, but it is enough to cure any lingering homesickness. Warmth spreads from cheeks to face, then throughout the rest of his body. Leo found an excellent vendor; Ryoma is pleased.

"You have my thanks for going out of your way like this. Whether Corrin put you up to it or not, I understand that it is somewhat of an awkward task." Much of the venom in his voice has been drained out by this encounter. Though Ryoma is hesitant to call Leo family, any time his mind wishes to call him foe, he will remember this gift. The taste of sweet yakitori should smooth the edge his tone can carry.

"If you enjoy this dish, I can teach you how to prepare it sometime in the future. Consider it compensation for what you've done tonight."

[bushinto]

Midsommar 2022 : Prompts and Memes Part 1

The sun begins its evening descent, bathing the sky in hues of pale yellow and gold. After a long day of collecting firewood and arranging the burning piles, your hard work is finally rewarded with the sight of a festival truly coming together. Merchants set up their wares and prepare their treats, filling the air with fragrant smoke and the warm scent of fried sweets.

Priests strike matches over each of your wood piles. Fires burns brightly. ‘tis the beginning of Midsommar!

The bonfires are burning….

[ ROAST ] Food over the fires, from meats to marshmallows. Each house has their own representative bonfire, and each fire has a large pot with their representative soup. Add something to it or try out what your classmates have been cooking.

[ EAGLES SOUP ] Black Eagles: Thick goulash, hearty, enough to feed a thousand soldiers. “Thousand Soldiers’ Soup” made with dried ingredients and reconstituted on the roads

[ LIONS SOUP ] Blue Lions: White fish, leeks, potatoes, heavy cream, keeps you nice and warm.

[ DEER SOUP ] Golden Deer: Broad beans, spiced sausages, seasonal vegetables, red hot with paprika imported from Dagda.

[ DANCE ] While Midsommar traditions began in the Empire and spread gradually across Fódlan, each country has its own Midsommar song and dance around the fire. Follow your house’s traditions, or bring in a little something from home.

[ BURN ] Burn different plants as offerings to the Goddess. Herbs and powders are sold by local vendors to change the scent and color of the smoke.

[ LEAP ] All around the hills outside of town, the people of Fódlan light bonfires to scare away evil spirits. Leaping over them is said to bring good luck, and many challenge each other to see who can jump the highest. Young couples link hands and try to jump together, hoping for prosperity in the year to come.

[ TELL ] Share stories around the fire. Lately, children have made a game out of whispering a story into their friend’s ear, who has to retell the story to the best of their ability to their friend, and so on. When the story finally reaches the end of the “convoy,” it’s often a completely new story.

[ TASTE ] Away from the noise of the festivities, the Chefs of the Round Table (the cooking club) has set up a mostly-private bonfire to test out some of their new creations. Their latest masterpiece? Something called a “marsh mallow,” a recipe from the Sreng region sweetened with vanilla and sugar. It’s supposedly delicious when toasted over a fire…

The Garland Moon begins…

[ CROWN ] Make a flower crown, or bestow one upon another.

[ GARLAND ] The Garland Moon is upon Fódlan, and garlands are being strung up all around Garreg Mach. Among the shop stalls selling handmade trinkets and knickknacks are florists with the last of the spring flowers, already woven and made into garlands and corsages. This may be your last chance to confess to your special someone before the season changes!

[ PAIR UP ] Single people get dressed up and paired off with other single people, this is the season of love and baby animals and the older adults won’t tolerate a humbug Singleton. If you already have a special someone, then dive right into the singing and dancing together!

[ SHOP ] The festivities draw merchants from all across the world to sell their wares, but beware: the crowds are ripe for pickpockets, and unscrupulous potion sellers take advantage of anyone who looks confused and gullible.

[ MUSIC ] There is no shortage of music or food. Join in with hymns around the cathedral, find the bards singing old folktales by the river, or try to swipe as many free samples as you can in the market.

[bushinto]

diadic​:

FIST OF SOUL

Mission Task Board: The Academy is always hard at work inventing new and extraordinary methods of helping its pupils find their true potential. One day, an announcement appears on the board, inviting all those interested in discovering something new about themselves to Lieutenant Lanton’s Loose Lottery. The idea is simple: Lieutenant Lanton hands you a weapon and puts you in front of another participant for you to spar with. The catch? You receive the first item he happened to grab and have to work with it, no matter what it is. No second chances! [Grants Any Skill +1]  // @bushinto​

    Sometimes, very rarely, do things work out just exactly as Leif hopes they would. There’s almost always some kind of hiccup, some imbalance or other aspect that puts the prince in a corner he has to dig his way out of through hoping his enemies will be more careless than him. It’s a game of luck, one he’s won plenty of times only after Miss Fortune herself has decided to whoop his ass first.

But today, the ass whooping doesn’t come first.

“ Your stance looks used to this, ”  he comments, stone-faced even as he feels a rush of exhilaration at the sight of the professor preparing to engage with him. Leif adjusts the weapon he’s been given, the very same as his opponent— the source of his delight.

Despite the vast array of weapons being handed out to all the people brought here, Leif and the Hoshidan man had both received a pair of gauntlets.

“ Don’t hold back on my account, then. I want to see the weapon as it’s meant to be used and learn it. ”

It’s not just about replication though. It’s also about learning to be able to combat it. This weapon type, one so foreign to him in all meanings of the word, was the blind spot in his combat expertise and he wasn’t going to let it stay that way.

“ Come at me!!! ”

(The King of Iron Fist, they called you, during your heyday in Hoshido. You were a rising star among the ranks of oni sumo-fighters--your duty the only thing shackling you to the ground.)

“Your observation is correct,” Ryoma confesses, impressed by Leif’s attention to detail. He has only just gotten his gauntlets wrapped round his wrists and the boy has already taken notice of the way he carries himself. That’s good, he figures. In spite of his age, he’ll make a worthy opponent. 

“Have you any knowledge of the Flame Tribe?” are the next words from his mouth, but he is quick to assume the answer is ‘no’. Not many are aware of its existence, even in his homeland. Ryoma’s consistent attendance at their festivals had always been a political one, seeking to maintain relations with them and the Hoshidan royal family. He counts himself lucky that he was forced to go, for they’ve proven to be an interesting people. “They are exceptional masters at close-quarters combat. In the few experiences I’ve had with them, they were keen on honing my skills.”

But he always quite enjoyed those festivals. The allure of the ring is all too real to him.

It was with great surprise, and even greater excitement, that he reacted to Lanton’s given weapon. Gauntlets force him to resort to hand-to-hand combat; he can relive some of the fire from his youth. Or better yet, prove that flame hasn’t quite died out. And watching as Leif steps into the arena with a pair of his own, what a revelation! It’ll be just like the Flame Tribe then. A tournament, where one’s fighting prowess is the only thing that can lead them to victory. 

“Very well!” Samurai continues, addressing the Leonster’s concerns with holding back, “Your other instructors have no doubt taught you how to force your way through opponents, so today I shall demonstrate how to use one’s strength against them.” 

The man’s knuckle comes to rest against the palm of his opposite hand, and he bows. It is imperative that, as Hoshidan royalty, he fight with honor. “I am High Prince Ryoma, of Hoshido! And I shall be your opponent!” Finally, he begins.

Charging straight into the fray, Ryoma gives Leif little time to react to his opening. He is fast, and the strength in every vigorously-trained part of his body can generate a sizable amount of power in an instant. Like a falcon in flight, he swoops for the student, body kept low and compact. It is only during the few seconds of engagement that his arms spread wide, folding behind his back so that when he fires them out for Leif, they slingshot with extra force. The move is simple: a quick but hard shove, intent on testing the other’s balance. If Leif knows how to hold his own in melee combat, he should be able to resist--to use the weight of his gauntlets to reduce the extra oomph that Ryoma’s provide. If not, he is in for a rude awakening. 

High Prince’s arms aren’t the only thing he uses to fight in this bout, for the rules do not specify that Lanton’s given weapon is the only thing one can use to strike. His foot flies out from his body, arcing like the crescent moon, so that it may trip Leif. This, too, is a lesson. He’s being taught that awareness is key in any fight, even one where it seems your opponent’s method of attack is obvious. They are in close-quarters, so any part of Ryoma’s body could become a deadly weapon--be that his fist, elbow, knee, even his head. If it can trip or shove Leif up and leave him defenseless, it is a useful tool to the samurai. 

If Leif wants to see how gauntlets are to be used, then this is his answer. They work best when in tandem with the rest of one’s body--as an extension of oneself, not something separate. The time will come for Ryoma to box some lessons into him with fists of steel, but for now, the full breadth of hand-to-hand combat must be understood. 

[bushinto]

opnaskr​:

Surf N’ Bigger Turf

though at first he reaches for the handshake with no fuss, ryoma’s words make him genuinely gasp. though he had been disappointed in himself, he had not meant for that disappointment to spread to ryoma in such a way. he must correct such a feeling before it is too late. “now mortal i appreciate the attempt to cheer me up, but you must not make light of your teachings like that! it is thanks to you that i hit the bullseye twice in a row! i would not have been able to figure out how to properly hold a bow if it were not for your help.” askr insists passionately with a frown, placing a motivating hand on his shoulder. “i will not allow my disappointment in my own performance to bleed into your feelings like that. you should be proud of yourself, as well.” his ears wiggle as he takes his hand off the prince’s shoulder.

“if you understand, then i would be happy to eat a meal together with you now.” never mind the fact that he did not really need to eat. he liked participating in everything mortals did— that included the meals that they made. before he goes to retrieve his target board, he looks to ryoma waiting for an answer. he would not leave without one. “you do understand, yes young prince?”

“Of course,” he finally admits, after a moment of quiet self-reflection. Askr is right. Even if Ryoma hadn’t been quite perfect in his ability to instruct the literal god before him, he’s done a phenomenal job with what little experience he possesses. And one ought to be proud of themselves for that fact, for it isn’t every day that they teach a divinity to shoot a few perfect shots. His shoulders visibly relax, showing just how wound up they’ve been this whole time. “You are correct, as usual. I understand.” 

The hand does not go unnoticed. In fact, it is welcomed--appreciated, even. Once again, Ryoma’s body reacts positively to the touch of the other. He allows himself a moment to unwind, because why shouldn’t he? The two have put themselves through a short but undoubtedly challenging ordeal today. A little reassurance after the fact can go a long way, Ryoma figures. “You have my thanks for participating with me. It puts my mind at ease to know that there are such welcoming faces in Fodlan.” And he means that, with all his heart. This would’ve been a very different contest if he shot his arrows by his lonesome.

“Now then, let us eat! I’m sure if we dawdle any longer, the dining hall’s stores will start to get cold.”

THREAD END.

[bushinto]

princepsumbra​:

Brains and Prawn

Ilk carries all the weight of every other vile word Ryoma’s far too honorable to utter. “Despite all popular belief, I do not hate Hoshido’s mages, nor do I condemn their way of magic. Give me some credit, Prince Ryoma. My late father’s ideals and reputation are not my own.” 

Are they doomed to forever miss the point the other is trying to make? He thinks to the unopened tome of Hoshidan spells gathering dust on his bookshelf. The gift had been meant to drive a thorn further into his side, reminding him of complicated family ties and bloody history. 

He’d never been interested in pursuing spirit magic before, much less possessing enough time to dedicate to the study. But he knows those are just excuses. Biases ingrained from childhood had subconsciously steered him away. 

“I have never claimed anything to the contrary,” Leo replies with equal measure, blade darting out to slice through a creeping vine. Pieces of the plant cling to his weapon. Leo gives it a hard shake, willing the material to dislodge. He doesn’t trust errant pieces of magic, no matter how harmless they may seem. 

Blade now clean, he returns to their discussion. Words curl up on his tongue like withered vines; he’s not blind enough to ignore the significance of Ryoma stepping to the side. Eyes briefly dart to the innocuous looking katana easily held in the Hoshidan’s hand. Nodding in return, Leo steps forward, footfalls light. 

Ever-moving walls snap to his right. Alert, Leo curls the fingers of his free hand, sword held defensively across his body. Leaves rustle on unseen stone. In a mere blink, a doorway appears before them. Leo squints, unable to make out anything in the gloom. 

Suddenly he wonders at Ryoma’s willingness to let him go first. 

Blond head shakes to dispel the petty thought. Indulging in such musings will only work to their disadvantage. 

“Watch your step,” he warns. “Were I the architect, I’d ensure hidden traps lay at the ready.” 

It’s not that he’s reconsidering his stance on the other prince--he isn’t, he swears--but there’s an honest quality easy to detect in Leo’s voice. He sounds firm, but not hostile, which, to Ryoma, means defending his ideals while not making too much of an attack against those of Hoshido. It’s all a strange chorus to his ears; a song of what if he’s not that bad? what if you can do this? 

But it is hard to focus on the other’s words when the sounds of this revolving dungeon are so intent on drowning them out. 

Raijinto drawn, Ryoma is instantly on his guard. Falcon-like eyes sharpen into slits as they scan his surroundings, the glint in their edge all that helps him see in the dim light. “As would I,” he agrees, finally finding some semblance of common ground, “it is difficult not to feel like you’re being led into something when a place feels so... Alive.” 

They slowly begin to creep into the room, for what other path lay before them? Ryoma finds himself doing the awkward two-left-feet dance as they move forward. His heart is left wanting to turn and cover their backside, but body instinctively fighting the urge. He feels himself a trusting fool, turning his back to a Nohrian. After all, how many have fallen to trusting in King Garon--turning their backs to him and receiving arrows through the head as reward? But this man, Prince Leo, is different. Intent on trying to prove he is different. Focusing on that fact is what brings peace to Samurai’s mind, and ultimately pulls his body into a swivel to watch their six. The lightning in his blade cracks once, and so too does his hand shiver. It is reminded of the power of this sword, of the very realness of death. Both hands on the hilt are required to stabilize it. 

For a few moments more, they continue like this. Tension tries to yank them down as they cautiously brave the unknowns of this strange room, Ryoma’s--and no doubt Leo’s--eyes dead set on uncovering traps.

But for traps that the naked eye cannot detect, their efforts are wasted.

High Prince can feel it: the rumbling beneath his feet. Cobbled floors begin to shake, their long-since rotted stones chipping away to make room for something deadly. It causes Ryoma to stop, to pay greater attention to his surroundings. But by the time he truly realizes the fate in store for him, it is nearly too late. “Move, now!” is as much of a warning as the mage will get, before his partner is leaping from his current position. Just as his legs leave the ground, the tiny cracks in the foliage-covered floor break away, and from them erupts their trap. A splaying of vines, twice the length of any man, and thrice as thick, lash out at the pair. They are too numerous to count, too plentiful to keep track of in the action. One manages to knock Ryoma by the leg, and another coils round his midsection. The pain is excruciating, a searing of fire and thunder making his very blood ache as his scar is so tightly gripped. 

(You nearly keel over then and there, but you’ve been taught to bite your tongue and fight on.)

Raijinto is raised to the heavens, a silent prayer said so that its strike may be true. And either the gods have smiled on him this day, or Ryoma has more fight in him than he realizes, for when he brings it back down against the green foe, it cleaves through even the ultra-thick vine with ease. Lightning arcs across both halves of the now-split plant, singing its cells and preventing regrowth.

He gasps when he is freed, the sensation comparable to that rush one feels when being suddenly pulled from cold waters. Samurai was drowning in that attack, but now his lungs can draw breath again. 

By the time he manages to pull himself back up, four vines remain. They appear different than the rest, more than sentient. Aware. Like they have some sort of intelligence. They waver in the air, and it is during this tiny moment of reprieve that Ryoma notices another keen feature of theirs: spikes. Their bodies are laden with thorns; slow-moving, but deadly if swung at either prince. Through sputtered coughs, one speaks,

“This is much more than a simple trap! On your guard!” 

[bushinto]

opnaskr​:

Surf N’ Bigger Turf

the god’s ears twitch as ryoma leans in to whisper to him. he doesn’t quite understand what the hush is all about, but what he does understand is that ryoma clearly very much wants that knife. “i understand, mortal. i shall do my best to obtain a knife.” he whispers back with a stubborn will and a nod.

if askr had remembered correctly, his goal would be to not get a bullseye. he doesn’t quite care what utensils he gets— but if ryoma wanted a knife to share then askr would obtain a knife in his stead! as the man retreats to go obtain his target, askr readies his bow up one last time.

do not get the bullseye. the continuous reminder to himself as he draws his bow is what messes him up. somehow it had been much easier to shoot right down the middle. askr tries to imitate ryoma’s last shot, and indeed he does manage to do that.

when he really shouldn’t have— for his arrow clips the edge of the target just as it had for ryoma. askr frowns, lowering his bow as his ears droop downward in disappointment. the mortal had counted on him for a knife and he had failed.

he turns to him as the man in question returns to his side. “i apologize prince ryoma…. i could not get you that knife. in fact, i did not get us another utensil at all.”

It’s hard to watch an arrow fly right past its target on any day, but much worse to do so now. Ryoma winces at Askr’s shot--purely out of reflex, of course--and defeat starts to scrunch up the features on his face. Surely, he would be crushed by this whiff. It is a small one, and with the utensils they have they can still comfortably enjoy their meal, but there’s just something so awful about ending on a sour note. 

“Do not trouble yourself,” he is quick to say, casting sorrow and secondhand embarrassment off his expression, “your performance was exemplary, for one claiming to have so little experience with a bow.” And that’s something Ryoma truly believes. He’s able to smile now, to let radiance shine onto the other, as he approaches Askr. The target he’d retrieved is then transferred to one hand, gripped at the top. With his now-free arm, he extends an honor to the bull-god. It isn’t quite the same feeling as a deep Hoshidan bow, but he’s starting to get used to handshakes. 

“If one of us is to blame, then let it be me. My teachings, in the end, seem to have led you astray... But I say it is better not to blame anyone at all. With enough practice, you won’t be able to hit just three shots in a row, but five--even ten.” All in all, a moderately successful event. Reflecting on things now, Ryoma understands that while he may not be the best archer on the range, he has other skills to more than compensate. Friends. The bond of friendship--the ability to reach out to others and enjoy your time with them--is the real prize here. Though it is by happenstance that Askr attended this activity at the same time as Ryoma, it is Ryoma’s own effort that ensured they participated together. If anything, he has proven to himself that he can get along with others--something that both widens his smile across his face, and will soon improve his food more than any knife or spoon could ever hope.

“Come now. We have a hearty meal waiting for us at the dining hall.”

[bushinto]

opnaskr​:

Surf N’ Bigger Turf

his bovine ears twitch with unsaid feelings, clearly happy to be praised by a mortal. a feeling that he was not entirely unfamiliar with— for it cropped up often back when he was still learning the ways of mortals from king lif. “thank you, but you have simply given me a good model form to work with!” he directs the praise back at ryoma, the curious gaze coming back as he watches the prince’s next shot.

his smile does not falter as the arrow clips the side of the target. he knows mortals to be resilient in every problem they face, but still takes to encouraging ryoma. “i am sure you will get it the next time, prince ryoma. do not give up!”

with ryoma’s turn over, askr knocks another arrow and pulls the string back in the exact same way he had the first time, spurred on by the man’s compliments. seeing as ryoma had said his form incredible… probably no need to switch it up, huh?

which results in the exact same bullseye as the first attempt, veered just a tiny bit to the left for lightning didn’t exactly strike twice in the same spot. he doesn’t quite think about how he should be going for a different utensil, instead turning back to ryoma with another grin. “a spoon for me and a spoon for you as well, if you need it my dear mortal!”

“I must say, you seem to have pushed past beginner’s luck!” Ryoma shakes his head but smiles, showing to Askr the remnants of disbelief still floating around in his head. There’s just no way someone shoots two perfect shots like that, yet the proof is undeniable (and he checked, shooting another quick glance at the god’s target). As he thinks on it, he realizes how ironic it really is, that a man with bovine features can so naturally shoot bull’s eyes. 

“It is clear now that you’ve ascended well past my teachings. Were you a student of mine, I would have you graduated on the spot.” A bit of light humor, to bring his mind at ease. It’s hard not to feel the effects of jealousy when watching him, but when Askr offers his second spoon, the envious hand threatening to grab him by the collar is swatted away. “Ah, you have my thanks! I’ve unfortunately shot all three of my arrows, and would greatly appreciate the missing utensil. In return, I shall lend to you whichever of the three you do not manage to obtain.” 

He leans in close now, lowering his voice to a whisper and cupping a hand over his mouth. Real hush-hush, with an accompanying blink. “If you ask me, the knife is easiest to share. We can cut all our food into bite-sized pieces before we eat so as not to contaminate it.”  And then he lets up. Askr is free to take his final shot, without guidance or distraction. It’ll be a true test of his abilities, his chance to see if he really learned something this day or lucked out with two flukes in a row. Meanwhile, Ryoma has begun the brisk walk back to his target, lifting it off its mount to be taken to the kitchen staff. Of course, he stays for Askr’s last draw. The prince wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

[bushinto]

opnaskr​:

Surf N’ Bigger Turf

he and embla had worked together like that at once, though that time had passed far too long ago. how he wished they could work together like that again, but he’d left making that come true in the hands of his kin. “how wonderful.” he nods to himself, satisfied with the answer. just another point to add to the list of things he idolized mortals for. with an answer given, askr finds himself trusting the hoshidan prince as he follows behind him, taking the bow offered to him.

askr watches ryoma’s form with a serious gaze, analyzing every little detail from the way he delicately pulls on the string to the way he points his arrow at his target. the god is nothing if not a fast learner, easily able to replicate every bit of ryoma’s form given the chance to analyze it for more than a fair few minutes.

his breathing slows as he focuses on the target in front of him— no doubt it will be the most serious that ryoma will see the god act for quite some time. he holds for a moment then releases. the string reverberates from the sheer force of the release.

maybe it is from the fact that this is not the first archer he has seen in his life— or perhaps he is just incredibly lucky, but the arrow whizzes through the air then strikes the target right in the middle. askr lowers his bow and releases the breath he had held, then looks towards ryoma with an innocent grin. his serious gaze is gone the second he locks eyes with the man.

“i believe that is what mortals would call a bullseye, yes? what utensil might i gain for this?”

Ryoma blinks.

Now don’t get him wrong, he’s not the type to become envious of others, but seeing Askr nail his first shot off of studying his own imperfect form is a marvel to him. Shock illuminates his features, and joy flushes them out with warm glow. His lesson must have really worked, for the god is already a natural at the art.

That, or he’s just running off a stroke of beginner’s luck.

“Askr, your form is incredible! Here I thought I would be the one to guide you, yet the tables seem to have turned.” A slow clap is what he receives for his efforts, for mere words cannot express how impressed the prince is. “If I remember the rules of the game correctly, you have earned yourself a spoon. Of the utensils available, it is by far the most versatile.” 

Now to earn his spoon. Brunette retrieves his last arrow, and like before, pulls his bow back to his chin. But this time, the projectile is nocked--ready to be fired for real. He concentrates, zeroing in on the target with his eyes. The way he is now, his focus is like a laser, pointed straight ahead and unwavering in the goal it is set on. He aims--compensates for any arrow dropoff and the wind--and lets loose his bow. The arrow flies in a near-perfect line.

But a straight line won’t get him a bullseye. His aim had been tilted slightly up and to the left: off-center, but intentionally so. The result is Ryoma just barely managing to clip the edge of the target with his last shot, earning him no new utensil this time. He sighs, lowering his bow. Perhaps he simply does not have an aptitude for archery. If he is to master this skill, he must make up for the lack of genetic talent with years of rigorous practice.

“Ah. The tables have turned indeed...”

[bushinto]

SEPTEMBER ACTIVITY POST

Status: Passed

Skill Points Gained: 2

Activity Check > Any +1 > Allocated to sword +1

Any Point Prompt > Allocated to sword +1

Skill Changes:

Sword: C > C+ 

[bushinto]

ofdusk​:

A Shrimp Really DID Fry This Rice

There is a phenomenally long list of things that Corrin does not know how to do.

Even now, years removed from her time in her fortress, the world holds no shortage of opportunities to remind her of that. Her entire life until only so recently had hardly been her own. Everything had been done for her then – household chores, tasks as simple as picking what she would wear or drawing a bath – and little had truly changed since her permanent residence was moved to Windmire.

Which means that she has never prepared a meal before in her life. ( …not the one she remembers, at least. )

Corrin nods blankly at her brother’s suggestion, watching the aforementioned man’s back as it disappears through a door. Ryoma is still speaking, something about how he has never made this dish before, and Nohr’s princess fidgets with the hem of her sleeve. At least they have that in common. 

Beside her, he gets to work. It’s an impressive thing to watch – a man of his size and power with a lump of dough in hand. Perhaps it is charming, in a way, a reminder of her other elder brother. ( Their likeness always does find the strangest ways to make itself known. )

And the princess watches with wide eyes as Ryoma simply… does. There is a craft to it, sure, but it really is that simple. A little embarrassing, perhaps, that she finds the prospect so fascinating, but then Corrin never really has seen such a thing be done. The kitchen staff in the fortress had always shooed her out for trying to steal sweets, and eventually her methods had turned to simply begging for them from Jakob instead.

It’s only when that pale lump of mush in her brother’s hands has actually become something near a pizza crust that Corrin realizes she should be helping. Crimson eyes blink twice, shaking their focus and forcing it towards the array of ingredients that still litter the countertops before them, left by the person from whom their inspiration had been drawn. Dragon steps forward, reaching a cautious hand towards her options. 

Instinct pulls her eyes to check the rest of the room, anticipating Jakob’s scolding without even realizing it. Cheeks tinge pink, and she prays that Ryoma is too enraptured with his dough to pay her much mind.

With the confirmation of her butler’s absence, Corrin begins assessing her options. Most of these things she only recognizes when they have been brought close enough to her face to smell. Dragon pauses when the distinct smell of fish reaches her senses, brows furrowing as she digs out its source. Which, upon further inspection, is indeed fish.

( Do people just… put anything they want on these things? )

Corrin’s eyes turn to Ryoma once more, the offending package of tiny fish still in her hands. She looks, for lack of a better word, clueless.

“…is there anything in particular you had wanted to include?”

“That I wanted to include? Let me think...” It’s a lot to consider. Going into this, Ryoma would have been perfectly fine with something plain. Even more so with something chock full of toppings that others desired. But now that he’s been put on the spot, he has to give things some consideration. This is a meal not meant for just him, no no, so to throw on ingredients all willy nilly might earn him the ire of others--be it Corrin or anyone else who decides to join in. By this point he’s gotten his dough into a ball and is starting to press it down with the palm of his hand, but has to stop. Fingers hover in the air, not daring to rest on his chin now that they’re dirtied with food.

“I feel I should incorporate a healthy balance. Meat is what makes us grow strong, so I’ll undoubtedly use it in some form, but I shouldn’t skip on my vegetables either. As far as bread and dairy go, our base has us covered.” He abandons his dough now, stepping closer to Corrin. His shadow looms over her as he hunts round the kitchen for supplies. In a few moments one hand is holding a hefty onion, and the other a half-cut sausage. Pretty standard, as far as pizza goes, but Ryoma doesn’t stop there. His eyes dart down and at the princess’ hands, noticing right away the item she seems to have picked out. Perhaps they can work with that, he figures. The onion can stay, but as far as meat goes, a theme can be built into their dish if he does away with his sausage. It’s left on the counter in front of her, plainly discarded, as he hunts deeper into the kitchen’s stores. Not long after, it’s replaced by a different kind of meat: seafood. Held tight between his fingers is a bag of fresh-caught shrimp, and another of unshelled oysters. 

“I believe this will suffice, on my end. Have you given your selection any more thought?” 

It’s a weird mix. Perhaps almost too weird for pizza. But it has yet to be tried, and so has yet to be judged by Hoshido’s high prince. Maybe it’s because he finds himself making a fateful reunion with Corrin, but he feels almost experimental today. Regardless of her answer, he takes his things with him--whole onion in one hand, both bags dangling from the other. They’re set aside next to his dough. 

Speaking of, it’s high time he gets to finishing that.

The pizzas he’d seen coming out of the kitchen were considerably flatter than what he has in front of him. And left out on the counter is an evidently-used rolling pin, so Ryoma can only infer that he is to roll his dough out. It looks simple enough, like the sort of thing anyone can get right if they try. So he does exactly that: he tries. He finds that there’s quite a bit of resistance the food puts up as he attempts to stretch it out (definitely due to a lack of technique) but it’s... getting there. It might start to resemble a pizza if he pushes hard enough.

[bushinto]

opnaskr​:

Surf N’ Bigger Turf

the bull god blinks and smiles innocently at the man’s brief bewilderment, tilting his head slightly as he seems to go back on his words. his ears twitch as he looks toward the bow in ryoma’s hand. ah, a show of his prowess? the mortals sure loved showing off their own pride.

askr earnestly listens to him explain the point of the challenge, drinking up any and all explanations for the way mortals did things. they always were so interesting. “i think i understand now.” he finally nods after ryoma finishes the explanation. “for those who lack the motivation in normal circumstances, the high if relatively peaceful stakes motivate them to try harder without truly endangering them, yes?” his grin grows even brighter at the thought of comradery between mortals. “truly, the way mortals rely on each other to grow even as strangers… it’s admirable indeed.” he holds a respectful gaze as he speaks about mortals before returning to his usual goofy expression at the suggestion of participating

“i have never once shot a bow in my life, though i have watched plenty of mortals do so. and i certainly would enjoy the experience of learning from one!” taller he is than ryoma, askr sets a hand on the man’s shoulder out of habit. “permitting that you are willing, you must show me the good mortals’ traditions!”

If it wasn’t obvious before, this guy is no human. Ryoma is sure, as he listens, that if he were to start a tally for how many times Askr says the word ‘mortal’, he’d lose count before their next encounter. 

“Indeed,” he answers, “many attending this activity would not have otherwise came--be it from a lack of motivation or interest in the subject.” As he tries to smile at so suddenly being patted on the shoulder, Ryoma looks to the crowd. It isn’t hard to understand the point he��s made, as nearly every gathering of students has at least one fresh face to the range. “If they find it to be enjoyable, they may find themselves with a new hobby.” 

But onto the bull. Samurai takes his answer to mean that he’ll participate. Giving a quick nod, he makes for weapon rack. Bundled together are several kits consisting of exactly one bow and three arrows--painstakingly prepared by those running the event for participants to simply grab. The idea is that you shoot your shots, and when heading to the meal hall, present the staff with your target. There are moderators posted in the shooting range to ensure nobody cheats, but it’s more or less working on the honor system. Not that Ryoma would even dream of cheating.

He takes Askr’s kit and strides straight back. Shortly after handing it off, he’s back to pulling his own bowstring, only this time with no arrow. It’s a demonstration, meant to lead by example.

(Now think, Ryoma. What would Takumi say?)

“Try to mimic my form. It’s not perfect,” that part is a little bit of him, “but if you hold the bow here and pull its string to your chin like this, your aim will be the only thing determining where your arrow flies.” 

Maybe it’s the teacher or older brother in him coming out, but when he instructs Askr on how to hold his bow, it feels like a lesson being taught. Like he’s trying to build up the foundational skills before letting him get off his pot shots, working with what little experience he has to offer at least something of value. Here’s hoping it works...

[bushinto]

midoriwings​:

One in Four-Thousand Ninety-Six

Word of an abandoned baby wyvern had reached her ears only that morning while grooming Titania. It would be wrong to ignore the creature; surely she can look after it until someone more capable arrived. Vanessa gave her beloved Titania one last affectionate pat on the nose and headed for the enclosure housing the tiny wyvern. 

Now, she finds herself suddenly unsure how to approach it. The bonding process is not as simple as with a pegasus. (If one can call hoping a pegasus will accept you as their master simple.) Taming is the word she heard General Cormag use. Bending a creature to one’s will seems a little cruel, though who is she to question it? Wyvern riders may feel the same regarding their pegasus counterparts. 

Head dips in a brief nod in reply to her companion’s question. “A pleasure to meet you as well, Prince Ryoma.” She bows as well, right arm across her stomach, left behind her back. He need not worry about her being nervous; royal titles don’t blind her to the fact their bearers are still human. 

Vanessa stands tall once more with a smile of her own. “Yes, it is strange.” Perhaps no stranger than forming friendships during a war, though she refrains from voicing that part aloud. Ryoma moves with caution, hand extending in a version of said friendship to their little wyvern. Teal eyelids blink with a soft snick of scales. He moves quickly, sharp teeth flashing before chomping down. 

Without hesitation, she grabs the princes’ hand, examining his fingers. Small pinpricks of blood well up along reddened knuckles. “You’re lucky he’s not full grown,” she says, releasing Ryoma’s hand. The teal reptile settles back in his nest, licking his chops, unwavering gaze never leaving their faces. 

“A name?” She blinks, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear in thought. “Wouldn’t that be best left to whomever adopts him?” Still…

“Aegir,” comes her answer after a few quiet moments. She’d heard it in some childhood fairytale, the details long since forgotten. Gaze turns to the teal creature. “Aegir,” Vanessa says again. He stares silently back, uncaring about this new development. 

“Aegir...” 

Ryoma is musing to himself now, using the hand that isn’t stained with droplets of blood to hold his chin. That name is a familiar one. He’s struggling to recall it, but he thinks it was something he encountered when doing some baseline research on this country. A menial task, that was, but one he prides himself on seeing through even to this day. He ought not to be a fish out of water here, and this mission is proving to help him accomplish that goal. “Yes, Aegir. When I think on it, it inspires strength and courage. It is but a simple name, but it brings to mind a dauntless shield defending the weak, and yet a clear blue sky up above...” 

That bushel of brown hair finally nods, the hand resting just beneath it returning to Ryoma’s side. He appears to have liked Vanessa’s choice, believing it worthy of a companion raised by Hoshido’s finest. “It is a fitting name. I recall reading of something similar in Fodlanese history books, so I believe it shall sound familiar to the folk from around here.” 

His first attempt at forging a bond with Aegir wasn’t a great one, but that doesn’t mean his second has to be bad too! This time, instead of approaching the little lizard, he lays his palm flat in front of himself. The gnash from his previous encounter with this tiny beast is still etched into his skin, but as Ryoma puts it, “To earn the trust of any animal, you must first show it that it has yours.” Trust with not just his hand, but his injured hand in this case. He thinks, rather foolishly, that this simple act will be enough to make Aegir like him. That the wyvern had somehow become compassionate enough to care over the course of a few seconds.

Lightning never strikes twice, but wyverns sure do.

“Granted, I have little familiarity wit-” THWACK! While his head is turned to properly converse with Vanessa, Ryoma receives a mighty blow from the back end of Aegir’s tail. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the bite, but the fact that the whelp walked all the way over to him for the express purpose of causing further harm is a sure sign that he’s trying to display defiance. Defiance that, as Ryoma scoops his hand back up, is starting to wear at him. It gives way to dismay in his eyes, to disappointment in his lips.

Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel and ask for help.

“Vanessa? Do you think you’ll have better luck with him? I fear I may have, er, angered this little beast somehow.” 

[bushinto]

stalarmonios​:

♫ lightning strikes twice when it comes home | + ryoma.

Strike. Dodge. Parry. Twirl. Upward slash. Backpedal. Block. Repeat.

Shigure knows this dance, this choreography, knows it like he knows his mother’s song forwards and backwards. It takes at once hardly an effort and all his concentration to follow and adapt the movements in a way that sends his opponent tumbling to the ground, defeated. The bluenette steps back and twirls his lance, wiping the sweat from his brow and sending droplets raining down on the parched dust of the training hall ground.

“Good work.” One must always compliment one’s partner, be it for singing, dance, fighting, or sparring. “You put up an excellent fight. I enjoyed the challenge very much.” He offers the other student a small smile, the finishing touch to this picture of a well-fought spar, and turns, striding away towards the covered benches to take a seat and retrieve his water. As he sips on the cool liquid, his amber gaze wanders about the grounds, sketching the scenes before him. Students spar with each other in groups and pairs, flitting about the area like fish in a massive school, or birds amongst their flock. One particularly vivid and deep hue of red catches his eye—a familiar one, the red of courage and leadership, bold and calm, tinting the equally familiar spikes of hair that sit proud atop a noble head. He can’t help the gasp of surprise and delight, and he stands, lance in hand, as he makes his way over to where the man in his sights is surrounded by several students of various ages and nationalities, each one carrying a weapon of some sort. A class, then? In any case, Shigure waits until the others have split off to spar with each other before approaching the tall redhead.

“I had no idea you were coming here to work as a teacher, Uncle Ryoma,” he says, smile bright. “I’m so glad to see you again! Have you been well?”

@bushinto it’s bonding time!

“...And I want everyone paired with a sparring partner they have yet to face before, or in a group of three. You are to report back here after defeating your opponent in a best-of-five bout, or in the case of the trio, whoever has the most total wins. Winners and losers will then be matched against one another as I see fit. Dismissed!” 

Like ripples in a pond, Ryoma’s class disperses once they’ve been given their order. The way he teaches, and the methods he employs to do so, are so straightforward and stern that they rarely leave room for questions. His instructions are simple, and as he watches the crowd scramble about to find unfamiliar faces, he knows they’ve gotten the point across. It is through combat with unfought opponents that one learns to adapt to any circumstance: this is the lesson he’s teaching them. 

But just as his arms cross over his chest in slight satisfaction of his work, the moment of peace is broken. A familiar voice stops him when his eyes become nearly shut, demanding their immediate attention.

Of course, he knows who this is, and is happy to give that to him.

“Ah, Shigure! Seeing you keep up with your studies puts my mind at ease. I am well,” a little rattled from past events, but learning to put that behind him, ”and if you’re here to see me, I trust you are the same.” 

The line drawn across his lips (an objective look, used when trying to be impartial with his judgements of his class) curls into a smile. What a delightful surprise his nephew is! Seeing him all the way in Fodlan’s world-renowned academy can only mean one thing: “The future of Hoshido will certainly be a bright one. Tell me, what have you come to learn here? Lancemanship? Song and dance? Government?” a particularly important one, if you ask him, “Or perhaps you’re looking to dip into swordplay?”

“If that is the case, I implore you to consider joining my class.” 

[bushinto]

opnaskr​:

Surf N’ Bigger Turf

askr watches the mortal festivities with, as usual, a curious fascination. of course he was not unfamiliar with archery— there were many a archer back in the kingdom of askr when king lif last lived— but it is actually the people’s reason for being there that has him stay to watch. they all seem to be trying to earn the rights to eat with utensils.

now what would prompt them to do that? for fun is his best guess— but could they not practice their archery without making their lives harder if they failed? a mortal participating in the game approaches the god in good faith as he ponders the meaning to this activity.

“greetings, good mortal!  it is wonderful to meet you. i am askr.” he replies back with a calm smile despite the inner workings of his mind. he’s quick to trust, as usual. “actually, i have yet to participate in this game myself.” he hums, watching the other students pull back their bowstrings, letting arrows loose upon targets. some seem to cheer as they miraculously hit bullseye while others fall to their feet in defeat as they utterly miss their targets.

he glances back at ryoma— perhaps the prince might have an answer for him. “high prince ryoma of hoshido, perhaps you could explain to me why the mortals play this game? i have yet to wrap my mind around the reasoning…”

“Why the mortals play this game...?” An auburn gaze flickers a moment, bewildered at the use of that word. Mortals. It implies Askr is no such thing. But when Ryoma’s eyes land at the top of his head again, he realizes what’s going on here. This man is, likely, something akin to a kitsune or wolfskin. Very well. He can accept that in addition to other types of humans studying at this academy, there would be a varying degree of species as well. “Actually, nevermind.”

“To answer your question,” he continues, picking up his second arrow in his hand, “it is the stress of challenge that motivates us to improve.” Like before, the string on his bow is pulled back until it rests near his chin. But he wavers a moment. One part of him is readjusting his grip and aim, remembering to account for the fact that this bow is made different from one of his yumi, while the other wants to make sure Askr can watch. If this next shot is decent enough, the god may have learned a thing or two, and if he’s really lucky, Ryoma can convince him to join in. 

Learning experiences increase in value with the number of participants, after all.

“When there’s something on the line, it pushes us to act our best. If we miss a shot, we remember what we lost in doing so, and make an effort to improve,” To give a demonstration of what he means, Ryoma looses his second arrow. Its point manages to sink into the soft material of the target this time, landing him the use of a fork for his meal. “What’s more, it also encourages teamwork. Students and professors alike will try to give tips and help each other, so that nobody at their table makes a mess.” 

The bow is lowered, and with it recedes the severity on the prince’s face. He got all wound up during his performance--trying to steady himself and focus--but now that he’s back to simply conversing, he can wear a smile. “Speaking of, I am no sniper, but I can lend you my aid if you wish to participate.”