resonanz

[resonanz]

Hallucinations? Or perhaps a quiet side-effect of adrenaline and exhaustion melded into one after an intense encounter of that caliber. The medic isn't someone who likes making baseless assumptions, but she could have sworn... "Are you alright? You seemed slightly uncomfortable there." The Director queries, terse silence broken by the subtly of her voice.

Instead of being smothered into complacency by those two demons, the now-common Graf Urtica has debased himself by offering his indentured servitude... A fool made into yet another pawn, escaping one cage only to leap into the maw of another. How laughable-!

Doctor Kal’tsit’s words are perfectly calm, yet they harshly snap Ebenholz’s attention back to the present. His posture straightens out of reflex in the chair across from her desk. He shouldn’t be drifting off here, especially when the woman before him was one of the few who had a say in whether or not he would be allowed to stay at Rhodes Island. Ebenholz gradually eases his tense features - he’s supposed to be making a good impression on his future employers, not causing them concern. Rumination could come later in the privacy of his dorm.

“I’m… alright. I’m not uncomfortable at all.” He spares a glance downwards at the scattered papers he delivered to her office to momentarily escape her scrutiny. The detailed fields are written in his own flowing script; it was already an onerous task to complete the forms in Victorian when it was his second language, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night prior as a result. He lifts his gaze, then bows his head slightly. “Forgive me. I… simply haven’t been on a landship like this before, and something caught my attention for a moment. Please, continue.”

He makes a mental note to be more careful about his condition in the future. While the happenings in Vyseheim were relayed to Rhodes Island, he was still wary of divulging too much about his experience with the Voice of Terra. The pain could be managed with analgesics, but there was little to be done about the auditory hallucinations. The melody was bearable, as he was familiar with its sinister tones in both his waking hours and indistinct dreams. The Voice, however, lacked the same predictability. Ebenholz had only ever gotten it to shut up once, and that was because he threatened to turn his Arts on himself if it dared to imitate Kreide again.

Above all, Rhodes Island was a business and he would surely be expected to work for his keep. Hibiscus was generous enough to vouch for him when he applied for a position as an Operator and it was in his best interest to not come across as some kind of raving lunatic…

[resonanz]

"Ebenholz, there's a sale on chocolate at one of the local chocolaterie ; It's actually pretty unheard of, with how famous the place is."

Kreide calls out from over his shoulder as he's already adjusting his satchel, looking as serene as ever as he smiles. A modest box of plain truffles, and with the sale prices being offered--He can most certainly afford it, and perhaps a spare one for himself and his newfound friend to share.

"I was thinking of buying some for Miss Hibiscus to repay her for help, but--I thought I'd ask if you'd like to come with me? I don't think you've seen this part of the Afterglow, yet. You might see something new."

Ebenholz skeptically raises a brow from where he’s sitting at Kreide’s uneven kitchen table, idly skimming through a local paper he plucked from Biegler’s coffee shop. He doesn’t doubt Kreide’s good intentions, but…

“Chocolate? Are you certain she would appreciate something like that…?” he muses half to himself.

Decorated sweets were a common gift for the tittering ladies he was introduced to at mandatory balls and gaudy celebrations, but Hibiscus was far from the fussy daughters of some Graf or Baron. For one, the girl was too stubborn to navigate the labyrinthine intricacies of noble etiquette. And for another, she looked ready to faint upon sampling a mouthful of sauerkraut. Gifting her a box of one of Leithanien’s most decadent creations would likely send her into an early grave.

He does not make any move to stop Kreide from stepping outside of the door, though.

“A sale at this time of year? Hmph. I’ll have to verify such a claim with my own eyes.” Ebenholz neatly folds the paper away. “It’s a common tactic for places with a certain degree of renown to deem their leftover stock a sale when they just raised their prices by a grotesque amount not a week prior.”

Though the young Lehnsherr of Urtica was not allowed to personally manage his fiefs, he is familiar with the silver-tongued merchants who came to flatter him at the Spire. He’ll not see Kreide swindled out of the pittance he called his savings if he can help it. With that, he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair and fastens it around his shoulders before promptly joining Kreide at the door.

Ebenholz has only a handful of experiences with doctors he can deem as positive, but he is in agreement with his companion. Hibiscus’ aid was deserving of appropriate gratitude. Perhaps they’d find something more suited to her… unique palate on their way to the aforementioned shop instead.

[resonanz]

Ebenholz is grateful she’s willing to play along with his poor attempt at deflection, but… could she truly see him teaching an ensemble of children…? Who would look at him and think he’s anything but a gloomy fixture in the corner? The baffling nature of her question practically dissipates his lingering headache.

His brow furrows in contemplation. “I’m not good with children, I’m afraid. And the way I understand the instruments I’m proficient with isn’t like other people, so…” The most he does is assist Czerny when the maestro needed a demonstration, though the whole ordeal makes him feel like a prized burdenbeast being paraded around.

Graf Urtica was slowly expanding his narrow scope of experience, but even he knew his limits. He was not personable or patient by any means, which made him ill-suited to handle a herd of excitable children. Not all performers are cut out to be teachers - he’d be glad to send her on her way with that bit of advice if not for a certain string of words giving him pause.

…Someone like her? What could that possibly mean?

An instrument found its way into the hands of most every Leithanian, regardless of class or station. Whether it was a dulcet set of strings, a gleaming brass horn, or just the candid tones of their voice, the solace of music was integral to their way of life. Ebenholz had been blind to its charm until recently, but he developed a newfound appreciation for it during his time in Vyseheim, turning to the familiar melodies he once took for granted for a sliver of comfort.

To be denied something as simple and human as that… well, it doesn’t quite sit right with him. Ebenholz gentles his expression into its usual dignified air, then makes a sweeping gesture towards the instruments propped against the walls and the piano situated in the center of the room. If nothing else, he wanted to impress upon her that the music room was for all, no matter one’s skill or background.

“There’s no reason for you to be discouraged; the purpose of this music room is to give everyone aboard Rhodes Island a chance to learn something new or refine their craft. No one’s going to chase you off if you want to play a song or two.” On the contrary, in fact. Czerny was a harsh taskmaster who rarely relinquished his new students, and many an aggrieved child ran into the arms of Cantabile when they sought a gentler hand. “And if you’re worried about the racket, the walls should be soundproofed.”

Mostly, anyway. Please ignore the fact that you can still hear snoring from the adjacent dormitory during the evenings…

He's alright. At least that's what he says, but spacing out for all these moments afterwards suggests quite the opposite. In that case, a well-chosen selection of encouraging words should do the trick, yet Highmore draws a blank. Anyone looking to her for consolation must be a fool, anyway, because, in the end, he's right. Some things, you just have to learn to live with, for better or worse. There is little anyone else can do to improve the process, especially if that person has a mess of their own to attend to.

Fortunately, he seems more than eager to move on from this topic. And that would be perfectly fine if his thinly-veiled distraction strategy weren't putting Highmore on the spot instead.

‘ Eh…? ’ Herr Czerny? Fräulein Cantabile? They must be other operators, familiar to her perhaps by the sound of their melodies but not by name. And this guy here makes it sound as if it were possible to talk to them, just like that. It's not.

‘ Uhm, well, no, I wasn't looking for anyone in particular, and there's no point in giving lessons to someone like me. I just like to listen to their songs, sometimes. ’ She wants to add, "they help me fall asleep," but to a musician, that might not be a compliment they'd appreciate, even if spoken with the purest intent. And explaining Highmore's struggles would only bring about more trouble than it's worth.

‘ What about you? I've heard you play before, too… The others give lessons, but you don't? Why's that? ’

[resonanz]

the face of someone who doesn't know that gertrude was meant to be the narrative parallel in the tragedy that he defied, where he could have easily become just as bitter and resentful against the world if not for sheer luck

[resonanz]

An apologetic bow of her head, as blue-grey optics remain downcast. "Pardon the intrusion, Operator Ebenholz. I heard music from downstairs, and couldn't help wandering up here. Is that...?" Pramanix trailed off, downcast eyes flitting towards the cello. "A cello? Never thought I would see one in person." The leopardess ruminates, but sadly, she has no recollection of cellos being available in Kjerag.

On the solitary stage of Rhodes Island’s top deck exists a lone performer cradled by the ephemeral cusp of night and day, his only audience the expansive wastes dyed in the brilliant glow of a waning sun. Though sonorous tones fill the air, they lack a doleful quality, instead accompanied by an affectionate undertone of humming. The song is a greeting and prayer, a wordless message for those who no longer possess a voice. Only the young man weaving a bittersweet melody from the instrument in his grasp knows what verses would find their way to the heavens.

Trips to the top deck have become a tenuous part of Ebenholz’s routine since he picked up the cello once more. On clear days when the landship was stopped, he would play nonsense until the sun sank beyond the horizon, as if to preserve the afterglow in his memory. He is no stranger to hosting an audience during these amateurish performances, and he would continue to play were it not for the question that softly fell from her lips. The other's words cause bemusement to briefly overtake his previously serene features as he lifts his bow from his instrument.

He does not intend to contradict her, but he thought cellos to be a fairly common sight. Even the most impoverished child of Leithanien would know the voice of one. And with the Battle of the Four Emperors, Ebenholz was certain the reach of Leithanien’s influence extended across the entirety of Terra, whether it be their innovations in music or research of Originium Arts.

…Then again, he had been similarly sheltered for most of his life, only allowed sparse glimpses of what lay outside of Urtica Spire. Perhaps what he considered commonplace was due to the limited sphere of his upbringing, which was shamefully dwarfed by the breadth of experience that Rhodes Island’s personnel had to offer. He aways the furrow of his brow to properly greet her.

“Good evening, Fräulein Pramanix. Indeed, this is a cello.” Ebenholz removes his hand from the fingerboard to gesture at the instrument settled between his knees.

To a discerning eye, the quality is undisputed. What forests of Leithanien that have not yet succumbed to strife or catastrophe boasted fine lumber for the construction of instruments. The surface gleams with a fresh coat of varnish, for it had only been used a handful of times since being crafted. The bow in his right hand, in contrast, has been well-loved for years despite lacking a counterpart to sing with.

“This one in particular…” Ebenholz pauses, letting his pale gaze settle on the ground. A rush of tenderness surfaces from the pellucid waters of memory:

He’d made a fuss dragging Kreide with him to Vyseheim’s Cliffy Patio. Back then, he didn't care who tried to refuse him so long as his companion could set foot into that music shop, even swaddling the other with his cloak in his fit of pique. Ebenholz should have been chasing Gertrude’s promise of freedom, yet he could only think of how unjust it would be if Kreide was denied an instrument to play.

Upon his departure from Vyseheim, they wanted him to declare it an ignorant young man’s mistake - but how could he, when he recalled the way Kreide’s eyes lit up with joy upon perusing their selection?

The ghost of a smile touches his lips as the fond recollection fades. “...It was a gift from a friend. To be quite honest, my skill with a cello leaves something to be desired, but if you’re not averse, I could play something for you."

[resonanz]

[ hello! this is an indie rp blog for clorica from rune factory 4! i'm multimuse and oc friendly, and i really enjoy crossovers :3

i have a pretty fleshed out genshin impact and arknights verse, but there will be more soon!

let's call this an intro post, so please like/reblog - i'd really appreciate it so that i can meet new people!! ]

[resonanz]

@ephemeralwxsh

Despite their increasingly frequent meetings, Ebenholz had yet to form a decisive opinion on Operator Pasithea. Wary was perhaps too mild a word to describe his hesitation, but it wasn't as though she'd done anything to draw his ire.

Her mere presence as a disgraced noble’s butler set him on edge, and since his arrival, he had taken great pains to avoid any reminder of his homeland or title. Honed instinct makes him disinclined to entertain her further than offering the necessary courtesies to a fellow Leithanian. Ebenholz knows just how shrewd those serving under the Grafen could be; the maids and butlers that maintained Urtica Spire were no better than the spies sent to record his every movement.

It is for this reason he divulges little of his circumstances to the other Caprinae when he is in her company. Realistically, there shouldn’t be any way for her to uncover the shameful past he harbored - his files were carefully censored per the Doctor’s request and he does not recall ever having to host Dame Frey of House Selphia. But some irrational part of him, one that echoed the paranoid sentiments of the Voice, still remained convinced she’d be able to peer through his shoddy guise and bear witness to the vile blood coursing through his veins. Children of Leithanien possessed either fear or reverence for His Majesty’s name, and he was not eager to find out which would influence her actions.

Yet at the same time, Pasithea was a strikingly considerate person. This is not to say that others at Rhodes Island lacked compassion - but her meticulous nature seemed to grant her a keen intuition for his post-combat flare-ups. On more than one occasion, she offered him a soothing cup of tea after he sought refuge on one of the dormitory’s couches, much like one of the maids who tended to him at his bedside when he was a young boy. Though his suspicions are not unfounded, to repeatedly impose upon her hospitality makes him feel like an uncouth leech. No longer was he a noble with servants at his beck and call; he was simply taking for granted the kindness of a colleague.

With this in mind, Ebenholz thought to return the favor just this once, volunteering for a training exercise that was short a Caster. He intended to subtly keep an eye on her position and swiftly dispatch any incoming enemies, but imagine the late Graf Urtica’s surprise upon discovering she was openly dozing off in the midst of battle.

“Fräulein Pasithea, I couldn’t help but notice you were, ah…” Locked in slumber partway through the exercise? Somehow raising her lance while in the throes of sleep? “You seemed a bit distracted during today’s training exercise. Are you certain you’re fit to participate in upcoming operations…?”

It's not as though he's weaving lullabies on the field, either. The dissonant cacophony that accompanied his casting would be difficult for anyone to sleep through. Ebenholz is aware that certain Arts came with drawbacks - he is, of course, a shining example of this - but surely she wasn’t just indulging in a nap, right? (Right??)

[resonanz]

[resonanz]

"Yes, I'm alright. Thank you for your concern," Ebenholz hastily replies, his mind already elsewhere.

How much did she hear?

Ebenholz thought he had become accustomed to rebuking the claims of the Voice, but the foul pall of His legacy loomed over him still, much like it did over the whole of Leithanien. Prior to Vyseheim, it was content to taunt him about how pathetic he was, struggling like a pinned insect against the Empresses' benevolence.

But now – now, it became strangely emboldened by his recently bolstered Arts, threatening to engulf his ego with each haunting melody that echoed through the crystals in his blood. Just like...

...no, there was time to dwell on that later. He's careful not to let his growing dread flicker across his expression as he considers his options. Admitting weakness to nobles who circled his inheritance like slavering hounds was a fatal folly, but he's gotten careless in his time at Rhodes Island...

Were he in his own domain, he might be inclined to flee without explaining himself. Yet that would be an act of cowardice, and he resolved to shed his old way of life. Ebenholz decides to keep his response vague enough to quell any questions that might arise, schooling his face into polite neutrality.

"Unfortunately, there's not much that can be done about it, it's simply... something that I have to learn to live with." Whether that referred to his unseemly outburst, or his disease, the other was free to extrapolate as she wished. He quickly gropes for anything to pivot from the subject. "If you're looking for Herr Czerny, I'm afraid he departed from the landship earlier this morning. I can help you find something in the music room, but only Fräulein Cantabile is available for lessons at this time."

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.

@resonanz asked:

❛ oh god. please tell me you didn't just hear me talking to myself. ❜ (cringe and fail goatboy moment?)

She did, loud and clear. Even if she hadn't, Highmore certainly would pay closer attention now, after he pointed it out like that. Who wouldn't? It's suspicious. And while it's certainly not unusual to witness other operators talking to themselves now and then, it's usually never in such an aggravated manner. This Caprinae either really hates himself, or this is something else entirely. But it couldn't be that, right? He neither looks nor smells the part.

‘ That's… alright. It happens to me, too, from time to time… ’ Although it's not quite accurate to call it talking to herself when in truth, it's a misguided, remnant memory of communicating with the swarm. But telling him that would only give rise to unnecessary alarm. Just in case, she slips her right hand into a pocket.

‘ If I may ask, though… You sounded a little upset there. Are you alright? ’

[resonanz]

Okay I can't find the comic I saw from eons ago so I'll just ask-

You mentioned Ebenholz conducting... I gotta know what sort of gestures they would do when emphasizing pianissimo. Really quiet. Are they like... 'shhhh dont wake the baby', hiding behind the podium, making faces or something else silly?

Hands (he’s right-handed, according to his art): His right hand will be reduced to naught more than a tightly controlled flick for each beat, held close to the surface of the podium; his left hand and general demeanor will probably give the impression he's trying to keep a Very Small Bubble from popping on the conductor’s stand. He might even lean forward, hunching his posture to emphasize this. He could also press his left index finger over his lips to signal to the ensemble they need to be quieter.

Face: Silly faces are definitely on the table - his expression gets further pinched into a grimace if he can’t get the dynamics down enough. (If LE has shown us anything, it’s that his special talent is looking like he’s Going Through It…) Whether he’s straining himself by sending telepathic waves to the offenders or just developing a budding migraine, it’s hard to say.

I don’t think he’d compromise his dignity in the pursuit for absolute control, since he isn’t Czerny-level dedicated to the craft, but he definitely allows himself to be more expressive than he normally would. Based on his battle animations, it’s clear he does like to use dynamic movements, but he still keeps them elegant. So no hiding behind the podium, unless he’s trying to guide an ensemble of children or something.

I mentioned that he is uncomfortable with certain parts of conducting, so I imagine that under the tutelage of Czerny, he’d gradually gain confidence and trust his own judgement when it comes to conveying his vision to other musicians. (thumbs up)

Also, if you ever find that comic you mentioned, please let me know! I’m intrigued now haha

[resonanz]

pseudomonarkaerenea:

“Huh? If you’re sure….”

Perhaps it was just in Ebenholz’s personality? He always seemed to refuse whenever he offered to go out of his way to do something, or add a little extra to his daily routine. Either way, Kreide wouldn’t pay it too much mind–The flute-player didn’t seem the type who would particularly enjoy having his words and actions nitpicked, nor his past dug into in the slightest of manners.

Even so….The young man can’t help calling over his shoulder as he tends to his chores, whether it be simply washing the dishes, wiping the tables, or finishing folding some freshly cleaned and smelling (read: musty) laundry. Is he a meddling too much? He’s not sure, he’s never really had anyone to talk to this much for more than one occasion. 

“Is something on your mind, Ebenholz?”

There’s no real founding reason for it when he asks, just a….gut feeling would be the best way of placing this sensation. Ebenholz looks as composed as ever, not even a grouchy expression in sight–And yet there’s just something in the young cellist’s intuition that just screams otherwise.  Or…perhaps he was overthinking it. 

Either way, he cannot bite back a brief sheepish, but good-natured laugh hearing that response alongside the sound of rustling fabric; His performance mate must be ready to depart. He’d best hurry himself.

“Haha–That’s true, we probably should get something a little more substantial, shouldn’t we?”

His grandfather would likely worry if he didn’t eat well, he already worried himself sick as is.

“I’m fine either way, too. I usually eat alone, so….Just having company for once is going to make the food taste better, honestly. Still, when you’ve come all this way–I’ll make sure to show you all the best places to grab a bite.”

Patchwork satchel shouldered, he smiles as gently and warmly as ever–He should be able to afford treating his newfound friend to at least one meal.

“The kartofelpuffer shop I mentioned; They also sell fowlbeast schnitzel, too. That should count for a full meal, right?”

They shouldn't dawdle too much, but… Kreide’s chipper demeanor has proven to be a bit infectious, and Ebenholz can’t say he isn’t glad to be on this outing as well. He puts aside his misgivings in favor of his new task.

(Don’t think he hasn’t noticed Kreide discreetly weighing his shoddy satchel - he’ll be sure to snap up the bill first!)

“That’ll do. I’m looking forward to seeing what the Afterglow has to offer.” Ebenholz nods curtly in approval. Though he lacks the fortitude to sleep on the floor, yesterday's dinner gave him a newfound appreciation for just about anything edible.

After ensuring his companion is ready, Ebenholz strides out the door into the Afterglow proper. He’s under no illusions that an Infected settlement was afforded the same care as the rest of the city, but the Infected here seemed to be in better spirits than most places.

He’s certain this relative peace came with its own set of stipulations under the auspices of Lehnsfrau Strollo; after all, many nobles sought to elevate their repute by offering the barest amount of alms to the downtrodden. Clearly, she had some grand goal by removing Graf Urtica and announcing his miraculous resurrection, even using her carefully cultivated Afterglow Hall as part of her plan…

…ugh, he really needed to stop entertaining these thoughts. Petty squabbles between the Kurfürsten were theirs and theirs alone.

“You said you haven’t had time to look around the Afterglow? Did you not grow up in Vyseheim?” Ebenholz asks as his shoes click against the cobbled street.

Kreide looked like any other Infected, but that drunkard from before claimed he’d only recently drifted into the Afterglow. At the same time, the severity of his grandfather’s illness made it hard to imagine how they’d end up anywhere else.

[resonanz]

She is fastidious but not overly rough - which is a surprise, given he just saw her violently subdue someone not even a bell prior. Perhaps he cast judgment too quickly, though he can hardly be blamed for drawing premature conclusions.

Ebenholz shakes his head. “Nein - no changes.”

He attends basic trainings, doesn’t stay up late, and the food, though incomparable to high-class Leithanian fare, is acceptable. No lesions forming on his skin, no immediate pain accompanying his movements… though he cannot say for certain how long his good fortune would last.

“My colleague, from Leithanien…” The term sounds too impersonal, too removed from the debt Ebenholz owed the man. The stalwart image of Czerny that exists in his mind wavers at the edges, always eclipsed by reminders of that wretched concert. “His Oripathy progressed to a point where he could scarcely leave his bed, even with medication from Rhodes Island and their partners. Is that… something to be expected for your patients here?”

Of course, he knows there are Infected who lead fulfilling lives regardless of their prognosis. Rather, this is the first time he gave thought to his own mortality; in the confines of the Spire, he either struggled futilely for his freedom or despondently waited for his natural end.

His gaze sinks downward in rumination. The beast drawn on her stomach eyes him mockingly, briefly making him question if his hallucinations finally extended to visual apparitions. Was that typical of a lesion…?? No, he must be seeing things…

"Oh? Is that so?", she questions absentmindedly as she starts with the examination - it's nothing special, though she does take extra care with those infected with Oripathy -- checking his infection monitor check the current status. Comparing to the medical files, it seems to be unchanged. Good.

The procedure is one she knows very well now - the countless times she has performed them on Operators and other patients, it is more routine by now than anything. Even so, Gavial isn't one to slip due to that -- each and every of her movements are done so with utmost care ( though only when she deems it a necessity; nobody has died so far due to her rougher treatment after all ); ever attentive to her client.

As a physician, she considers it her task to notice the slightest changes. If she has examined someone before, she is not going to easily forget their constitution -- more so those who are infected.

Meticulous as always, Gavial is sure to cover all parts of the body, prodding to check if there's any discomfort at all. "Any other notable changes? Even minor ones?"

[resonanz]

Instrument & Music Headcanons —

It's mentioned throughout LE that the Voice allows Ebenholz to pick up most any instrument with ease, so I wanted to delve a little more specifically into that for future reference.

He is proficient with most (Western) orchestral instruments; this means he can pick it up and wield it properly, and probably do a decent amount of sight reading because he is being guided by the Voice (embouchure, fingering). Anything on the more technical side and it becomes obvious he's kind of inexperienced in instruments he did not specifically dedicate his time to (eg, his cello performance in his oprec)

I specified Western since the Witch King hailed from Leithanien and those were what he was probably the most familiar with. 'Foreign' instruments that have a reasonable analogue (such as fretless string instruments, or wind instruments made of wood) would require a bit of work since he is without explicit guidance, but his prodigious ability to play music would facilitate the learning process

I'd imagine his instrument proficiency generally flows as Woodwinds > Strings > Brass > Percussion. He's more skilled with soprano/treble instruments than those lower on the staff; the iteration of the Witch King's will that he hosts is described as a shrill, commanding melody, so it would grant him an affinity for instruments that could mimic that (i should probably make him an instrument tierlist?)

Has perfect pitch, saves him from needing a tuner lol

When conducting, he can keep time and guide the ensemble through passages fairly well - he is surprisingly expressive with his hands in this regard. However, he is uncomfortable with the process of nitpicking and essentially ordering others around...

Future instruments: I think he'd eventually pick up a guitar because 1) it seems like there are a lot of ops who play guitar (HoSF furniture) and 2) he eventually warms up to rock bands (or at least the sound of operation pyrite); despite his upbringing with classical instruments, he'd be open to trying something that would offend the Voice in his brain

Idk if i can imagine him in full emogoth stuff like some people are fond of doing but I think he could pull off the 00s emo band look where they wore formal suits... I should probably draw this when I get some time (thinking)

[resonanz]

"What do you think you're doing?"

There’s a somewhat… unusual Operator that Ebenholz occasionally saw in the dormitories, one who had a rather vocal aversion to Doctor Gavial’s presence. Minimalist, he thinks? Though he can’t be too sure, as he was often in the company of a stern-faced Lupo who was bent on chasing most anyone off if they weren’t a fraction of her height.

Regardless of the strange impression he currently has of the Durin who always bemoaned the state of their interior design, he’s starting to understand the other’s sentiments. 

“What do I think I’m doing?” he snappishly replies in an attempt to deflect from the fact that he nearly jumped from being taken unawares.

He doesn't appreciate the immediately accusatory tone, as if he'd been caught red-handed in the midst of something scandalous. And it's not as though he's thieving - he's just borrowing a couple of these Zeruertzan-styled foam noodles. 

Upon catching sight of his interloper, he makes an effort to diminish his visible annoyance. Ebenholz removes his hands from where they had been fiddling with one horn, offering a short bow. “My apologies. You merely startled me, Doctor Gavial. As you can see, I’m preparing for my upcoming cranial scan.” 

He gestures to the makeshift safety apparatuses affixed to his horns, though they make him look less than dignified…

Moreover, he's never undergone such rigorous examination. While the physicians who visited Urtica Spire ensured he did not die under their watch, they spared little concern for his periodic flare-ups. After all, none dared to tamper with remnants of His Majesty, whether out of fear for his legacy or the wrath of the Twin Empresses.

After the events in Vyseheim, he accepted this was an inextricable part of himself that he would be forced to rebel against for the rest of his days. For an irony, it was not until after he came to terms with this truth did he encounter doctors who were actually worried about it. Given he is now under the employ of a pharmaceutical company, he supposed it was only a matter of time until they sought to delve deeper into his maladies.

“The Medical Department has taken a particular interest in learning the source of my condition. I’ve told them my own explanation, but… well, I can’t exactly look inside of my own head, can I?” 

Now, please kindly leave him with at least a shred of his dignity intact…!

[resonanz]

Truthfully, Ebenholz had yet to acclimate to the more common parlance his colleagues preferred. Pramanix’s formality is a welcome change from the Operators who called him all manner of incomprehensible nicknames to attract his attention.

(For example - ‘Dude?’ ‘Bro?’ His comrades were doubtless talented in combat, but where was the professionalism…?)

“I’m quite fine; I just need a moment to catch my breath.” He was still discerning how much he could cast until he invoked the ire of the Voice nestled in the back of his skull. The residual ache in his temples is bearable, as is the smarting bruise on one of his cheeks.

Ah, right. He memorized the itinerary out of necessity, but neglected to actually introduce himself. “My name is Ebenholz.” He places a hand on his breast and gives a short bow. “I am from Leithanien, and Rhodes Island was gracious enough to take me in after I contracted Oripathy… regardless of the circumstances that led me here, I am merely a man down on his luck now.” Hopefully that would suffice. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just another hapless Infected.

“I appreciate the attempt at salvaging my pride, but I recognize where I am lacking. Given how you carried yourself in today’s operation, I find that difficult to imagine…” Despite the gruesome nature of their task, she possessed an otherworldly elegance while using her bell, embodying the same majestic chill that descended from the Winterwisp Mountains each turn of the season.

Ebenholz, in comparison, looked like a startled fowlbeast flapping his arms about. It was becoming painfully clear that Graf Urtica was sheltered from the world more than he initially thought. Speaking of which: “I haven’t seen many Operators who combine music and Arts; is that common in your homeland?”

If only...

Needless bloodshed could have been avoided. But such a thought process was steeped purely in naiveté. The Saintess stepped forth, holy bell held betwixt lithe digits. It's done and over with, wasn't it? She couldn't allow herself to lament the lives lost, nor dawdle on their short-lived victory. More battles would arise, sooner rather than later.

❝ No, need to thank me. It is, naturally, what allies should do, no? ❞ She murmurs beneath her breath, a subtle smile flitting across her lips. The effects of her holy bell wear off, leaving a thin layer of frost on the ground behind. And it made the Saintess wonder, how long will her secret remain a secret? So far, so good. Only the executives aboard the Landship ( Doctor, Kal'tsit, and Amiya ), knew the truth behind her identity. But the reason for sneaking aboard Rhodes Island through private means...

Such a reason is only known to her and Kjera.

❝ Are you injured? I can call a medic to provide quick assistance.❞ Those Arts abilities, he had been wielding previously. She vaguely wonders if their prolonged usage fatigues him as much as summoning the divine energy in her bell does for her. ❝ Oh? Then... I take it that you're one of the newer recruits aboard Rhodes Island? I don't believe I've addressed you properly yet. What is your name, if I may inquire? ❞

There's a fleeting hint of formality in which Pramanix constructs her sentences when conversing with a fellow colleague. Perhaps her ability to speak nonchalantly has been adversely affected by the heavy role resting upon those slender shoulders of hers. And try as she might, old habits die hard.

❝ Shortcomings? Is this how you see it as? When I first arrived at Rhodes Island, I was inexperienced like yourself. Your combat knowledge will increase in due time. Please do not exhaust yourself attempting to be perfect on the first try. ❞

[resonanz]

Um, yes, hello. This is a new-ish multimuse blog so far focusing on Arknights characters, though others being added isn’t out of the question.

Looking for people to follow, so if you’re interested, could you like or reblog this post? I’ll check out your blog. Crossover stuff is also fine.

[resonanz]

                                                                           Are you lost?                                                           You’ve lost sight of the shoreline                                                                  Is this what you planned?                                                      Is that kelp at your ankle or is it a hand?

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