elusivia

[elusivia]

MOVE OVER Racket of Solm😎😎😎😎😎

(My self-indulgent game completion art) :^)

[elusivia]

He let her push by, shooting a glare at her back before getting back to work.

Zelkov preferred efficiency to chit chat, and he let the silence linger as they finished tidying the infirmary. He might've tried to do too many things at once, but each and every task had needed to be done. He ignored the discomfort in the air, working to finish making each bed and even fluffing pillows in a businesslike manner.

He passed by one of the other plushes he'd made for the infirmary, a Sommie, and gave it a pat, heart softening a little.

But not enough to try and smooth things over neatly.

His salve project wasn't all that far from being done. He returned to it, muddling the herbs he needed and finishing getting the jars of it sealed and labeled. Working quietly, he half hoped she'd just leave, but her shift was starting and so he shouldn't have really hoped too hard.

Schools of Thought [Edain & Zelkov]

[elusivia]

Zelkov turned his head to the sky for just a moment. Even though they were a world away from home, he was glad Alear could find comfort in it. If his own family had not been able to at least have the dignity of final resting places, he wouldn't be nearly so complacent.

Monuments didn't always have to have actual relics of the deceased, after all. He filed that away to bring up sometime when they had more time to talk, or when he could make something to surprise her.

He crouched low and sprinted by the rows of stones, determined to outrun whatever potential intruder had alerted themselves to them.

Leaping over the other side of a row, he came face to face with the source of the noise.

Alear did too, and they made eye contact over it.

Zelkov stooped down, picking up a stray cat. He cuddled it close in his arms, sighing as he scratched behind its ears. "You gave us the *wrong* idea there, little one," he muttered. "But if not you, what's been causing this *mayhem*?" They had to stay on alert.

But... he also took a moment to hold out the gray cat to Alear, knowing she seemed to have a soft spot for animals.

"A new *friend*."

✦ · . — Descansa en pau

[elusivia]

So not a ghost, and somewhat rude about it.

"You could be *nicer*, since you have confirmed you have the luxury of being alive," he muttered.

Zelkov had brought one of his old silver knives with him. It was the best he could do without magic, and had she been a ghost it wouldn't have harmed him to try it. It glinted in the night before he sheathed it away, stepping back, not bothering to feel her pulse.

He stepped so far back he was in the shadows again.

"Very well. If *you* are not the one haunting *these* grounds, there may be a spirit out here yet. I shall *escort* you to your destination, and scout ahead as I do so."

Around a corner, just out of sight, he quickly scaled the wall of a building, staying out of the torchlight and able to see her white, practically glowing sillouette from his rooftop perch, waiting for her to take action and peering into the night, searching for a true ghost.

Veiled Figures [Julia & Zelkov]

[elusivia]

He could never stop himself from smiling when she imitated hm, even if he felt the need to officially discourage it. When it was just the two of them, she could be herself without any pressure of formality.

"Indeed." Zelkov surveyed the graveyard around them, picking out what he could in the mists. Some gravestones had been topples, overs bashed, some graves even dug up as though the intruders had resorted to robbing. Things had been tough lately, but not to this point of desperation. It felt more like they were taking advantage of lessened patrols.

He knelt, brushing the dirt off of a low marker like Alear had done, fingers tracing the name. It was one he didn't know, but that was fine. "Yes, these places exist for the *living*, for our own comfort. This *connection* we have to our loved ones, these burial grounds, *must* be protected."

Standing tall again, he peered out into the fog, hand poised above the handle of one of his throwing knives.

"No... not *yet*," he admitted.

Something rustled to their left, a few rows away. Though he couldn't see anything, he held Alear's gaze and nodded his head in that direction, ready to dash over.

✦ · . — Descansa en pau

[elusivia]

Zelkov could tell Chad was an experienced fighter. It was a shame someone so young had to be good at thinking on their feet so much, but the world was not fair, and they were doing a good job of honing their skill, not being perfect, but more impressive and important, not giving up.

At Chad's words, he blinked with surprise.

"Why, yes." He greatly preferred the corners of a room, the shadows outside of the harsh light unless he specifically needed it for work. A portion of it was being constantly sleep deprived and wincing at the sun, far more used to Elusia's overcast skies. It was simply habit, he supposed, though he spent plenty of time being too busy to fade into the background at work.

So, maybe it was a slight problem. He called he and Yunaka's *slime* conversation.

He chuckled, genuinely amused. "Ah, I see. That *would* make me seem a little unapproachable. Funny how often we are so *unaware* of how we come across."

With that, he gave a nod and broke out of his stance, standing tall.

"You've done well. Do you feel as though this was *helpful?*"

lycianlynx​:

Self *Defense* [Open]

“Oh. Right.” The other has a point; Energy can’t be wasted on something as stupid as being nervous. It’s just easier to not worry about stuff like manners and decorum when you’re just supposed to beat the other person’s ass and get it over with — An attitude you’re definitely not supposed to be taking up with a mentor of any kind. (”ugh, this again? you trying to get a gold star or something?” — Chad can practically hear Raigh laughing at him.)

They’re already forcing down the hunch of their shoulders into something more fluid when Zelkov continues, and the student’s expression twists in confusion. They’re… Not sure whether to be sympathetic or offended that he thinks they’re outright scared of him. (They think, that if they were as tall as he is, they’d have the same general effect on people, too.) Instead, they carefully settle on staying vaguely confused.

“What? I’m not,” They start, twisting slightly to block with a swift chop of their hand, successfully diverting the strike away from their shoulder. A grunt as they ready for his next strike.

“—Scared of you.” Another block, this time overhead, with their forearm. They resist the urge to dodge the next, but accidentally take the hit to their wrist and wince — It doesn’t hurt, as promised, but they can’t help but think that that hand would’ve been totaled in a real battle. The next hit comes, a jab aiming for their side, and they instinctively twist away — It’s a good dodge, but not what they were instructed to do. They catch themself with a heel-turn and grimace.

“(Dammit.)” Then louder: “The pace is good. Again, please.”

Zelkov was relieved he wasn’t frightening the current student he was training with. Even when he made contact with Chad’s wrist, he endeavored to not have the strike send pain shooting down the bone or otherwise hurt him.

“Oh. I am *glad,* then.” Chad recovers quickly, pressing on, asking for more training. Zelkov obliged, focused on helping Chad refine his reflexes and technique.

“It is *alright* to dodge. In *real* combat, I dodge more than block,” he admitted. Zelkov wasn’t a teacher in part because he didn’t think he had it in him to actually be strict with students, despite his other worry that they might be frightened of him. What could he do so more people were like Chad and didn’t judge so quickly? “You are doing *well.*”

Was it okay to ask? Zelkov kept running through blocking drills, watching Chad closely to ensure his motions were correct and that the potentially life saving blocks were becoming muscle memory. “I wish I *understood* what I might do to seem more *approachable*.” He didn’t drop his mysterious emphasis, even though it might’ve been a good place to start. “Can you be *honest* about hat others might be *uneasy* about? Is it the *roguish* stubble?”

[elusivia]

OK, but what if instead of throwing plates, it was a serious picture and I cleaned up the line work and added a background.

[elusivia]

Zelkov had no idea that his own voice could scream like that.

Perhaps his wording was indelicate. Zelkov held up his hands, unused to how pale they were. Well... he could tell that this girl was strong, at least. The knight's uniform was far from unearned.

"Oh, I meant no *offense*", he said, still letting his delivery of words and syllables tumble out playfully with nonsense inflections. It was too much of a habit to stop now, and he had to admit it sounded amusing in her voice. "I am often *unable* to sleep, and didn't realize how much it showed. It is not *your* fault."

And then she was crying, and he didn't know what to do but marvel at how it sounded.

She had no restraint, did she? He'd heard more emotion out of his voice in minutes than he had in years.

He wasn't exactly able to smile when commanded to stop frowning, but he could pull off a neutral expression. Hmmm. "There are *creams* for that, if you are so concerned, though I do not think you are close to the age at which you need worry about *wrinkles*."

Zelkov raised his eyebrows as she further commanded him to do something. Though he couldn't see it, the look he was giving her through the body he was in was especially skeptical.

"I am retainer to a *queen*, lady knight, I am the best assassin and guard in all of Elusia. My behavior and skill is impeccable." So long as he didn't run into a certain few people... "For this *mishap*, there is no cure but time, and I have work to do. You may follow me to the infirmary if you like. I have some *salves* and pastes to finish making. It will be *messy*."

He darted to the classroom door in a way that would have seemed natural for him to do in his own body, but was utterly ridiculous looking in hers.

For the briefest, smallest of seconds, Clair determines that she must be dreaming.

Why else would she feel so heavy unless she were burdened with slumber? Her body feels strange, wrong. She presses a hand to her mouth to stifle a groan and the texture of her palm jolts her from her grogginess. Are those… callouses? Her blurry vision sharpens and she realizes that her hands are not hers.

With a shriek that could shatter glass, Clair ungracefully leaps to her feet. She is taller, now — much taller. She does not know what to do with this newfound height and all its… gangliness. Her hands reach up to pat her face, and another wail of distress escapes her when she realizes her full lips and button nose are nowhere to be felt. And her hair — her hair! What happened to her hair? It feels all short… and thin! Tears well up in unfamiliar eyes. How she wishes to tear the classroom apart, brick by brick!

Clair whirls around to face… herself. Mother Mila, this is strange. She cranes her neck to stare down at her body, piloted by someone else. It is a small comfort to see that, more or less, her real form looks just as she had left it.

“Terrible? Is it truly as bad as you say?” Her voice comes as a whimper, which sounds strange with her new, deeper tone. “Oh, gods.”

She buries her face in her hands and a choked sob escapes her. The rational part of her tells her that she has faced worse than this — quite silly, if she were to be honest — predicament. She fought the corrupted War Father and won, for gods’ sake. But the larger, deeply hysteric part of her wants to find a cave to cower in for the rest of her days. With much difficulty (and a long, long deep breath) she manages to rein in her frenzied emotions — for the most part.

“Stop frowning.” Clair snaps. “It is an expression unbecoming of my visage. You’ll give me wrinkles!”

Ladyknight — or, well, whatever she is now — heaves a heavy sigh, running a hand distressedly through her hair. 

“We are not waiting. You will work on a solution to returning us to our bodies. Now! This instant! Immediately! I cannot let you run amok in my form, you — you’ll ruin me! ‘A lady is her reputation as much as she is herself’ — do you understand? I am nobility, a knight! No, not just any knight; a captain of the prestigious knighthood in all the worlds! I can’t let you leave this classroom as me. You do not even speak as nobility do, much less any other commoner I’ve met! We are fixing this. Do not just stand there! Have you no prerogative?!”

[elusivia]

He’d never understood other people’s aversion to graveyards.

They were peace. Here, the dead and beloved rested, visited by those who missed them. Death was a simple fact of existence, one to be accepted. Monuments were not made for the benefit of the dead- how could they be when the dead were gone- but of the living seeking to honor them, to feel a connection. His worries and tension could slide away for a little while in the silence between stones, himself at rest too.

Rather, they were supposed to be peace.

Zelkov silently crept through the graveyard, alert for any other sign of movement. The disrespect for the dead and of such a sacred place had him on edge. Whoever was behind it would regret their transgressions the moment he found them.

A sound.

He slid out from behind a row of graves, ready to spring at the intruder. However, he stopped short, drawing himself up to his full height, expression softening.

“Alear. I *apologize* if I frightened you.” He inclined his head to her. “I took it upon myself to *patrol* the cemetery for any sign of the vandal. It would *appear* you have a similar inclination.”

✦ · . — Descansa en pau

[elusivia]

Act *Natural* [Clair & Zelkov]

+1 Any starter for @hycanitho

One day, you find yourself waking up thoroughly sore, scraping yourself off the floor of a Monastery classroom. As you strain to remember how you wound up there, you catch sight of your hand – except it’s not yours. Nor are the clothes you now wear, or the body beneath them. Your actual self is standing opposite you, staring back in shock and… covered in dust? Before things spiral further, the professor attempts to quell the growing chorus of unrest with an explanation, which also serves to jog your memory. This was supposed to be a seminar showcasing the magical properties of a magic tool from Tellius known as Warp Powder. Unfortunately, its volatile nature lends itself to many potential side-effects if mishandled… one of which is ripping people’s souls out and depositing them into the nearest acceptable vessel. The unbothered professor assures everyone that this “minor inconvenience” will wear off on its own eventually, and that the Monastery will still be expecting the completion of your usual assignments and duties in the meantime. [Grants Any Weapon +1]

He propped himself up on his hand, groaning as he sat up on the floor. It seemed... no, he'd close and open his eyes again, just to be sure. It couldn't be-

Blonde.

"How *peculiar*."

His voice wasn't right either. It was higher, and somehow it sounded dainty, as if he was a noble lady. He fully jolted awake, taking in his light colored pegasus knight uniform complete with a certain weight on his head. After patting his arms and legs, clumsy as he got used to them, making sure he at least had every limb accounted for even if this person was short, he reached up to feel the knight's helm and accidentally knocked it against his head, groaning.

If Zelkov was in someone else's body, then his own must be around. Standing up and brushing dust off himself, hoping the instructor's reassurance that this was all temporary was correct, he found himself lying a few meters away on the ground.

"By the *Divine* One," he said, standing over his true form with his arms folded, concern on his face. Though on accident, he wasn't doing too bad of an impression of the original one. "I look terrible. Exhausted."

He reached out a hand to himself, hoping they were in each other's bodies and hadn't involved a third person in the mishap.

"I am *Zelkov*," he said dramatically. "I am sorry to be *borrowing* what I presume is you, for the moment."

[elusivia]

I could stand silently in the corner for this discussion to add to the *ambiance* of the room, if you need me.

This guy has been meeting me after my office hours for a week now, begging me to go to lunch with him. How do I tell him I'm not interested and that I think his headband looks dumb, in a way he'll understand?

.

[elusivia]

No

A vernacular is a typical way of speaking within a specific region. I thought you might be *cool*

This guy has been meeting me after my office hours for a week now, begging me to go to lunch with him. How do I tell him I'm not interested and that I think his headband looks dumb, in a way he'll understand?

.

[elusivia]

I was attempting to *address* you in contemporary vernacular, assuming you are one of Them.

This guy has been meeting me after my office hours for a week now, begging me to go to lunch with him. How do I tell him I'm not interested and that I think his headband looks dumb, in a way he'll understand?

.

[elusivia]

It is a *standard* youth greeting, nothing more.

Bye!

This guy has been meeting me after my office hours for a week now, begging me to go to lunch with him. How do I tell him I'm not interested and that I think his headband looks dumb, in a way he'll understand?

.

[elusivia]

Hi <3

This guy has been meeting me after my office hours for a week now, begging me to go to lunch with him. How do I tell him I'm not interested and that I think his headband looks dumb, in a way he'll understand?

.

[elusivia]

All *laxatives* in the infirmary shall now be kept locked away. How annoying...

This guy has been meeting me after my office hours for a week now, begging me to go to lunch with him. How do I tell him I'm not interested and that I think his headband looks dumb, in a way he'll understand?

.

[elusivia]

He may have simmered down completely, but the presence of her however had him bristling again. Not slowing down as he worked to finish clearing the counter and washing his hands, he moved forward to start remaking the beds, movements sharp and quick with both urgency and agitation.

"It is not a matter of my *comfort*, priestess." He scowled, not liking to be interrupted in his leisurely pursuits, and disliking this interaction even more than usual by the second. Perhaps Queen Ivy would ask for him to be more diplomatic, but he was ever too honest-

"Should you have a *formal* complaint about my practice, with evidence of *genuine* discomfort or harm come to any of my patients, you are *welcome* to speak to those who have actual authority over me." A snap of a sheet in the air as he bent low to tuck corners in.

He tried to not think of the later days of the Fell Dragon's terror in Elyos, the number of children who had been orphaned and drifting around in ghost towns. Anyone who was having to see him in an infirmary could handle some work in progress disarray.

And, about that,

Barely pausing, he threw a soft object from a bedside table to her. A knitted, stuffed cat, one of a few other handmade items in the room.

"I have personally made what comforts I can for younger patients who have the *misfortune* of needing the infirmary. There are accidents every day, patrols, crest beasts, training injuries, illnesses, and personal *skirmishes*."

He drew himself up while still working, the bags under his narrowed eyes visible.

"How *luxurious* it must be to think this is not at any *moment* do or die- enough to not bother helping me."

Schools of Thought [Edain & Zelkov]