#//thank you to REDACTED for reminding her that life ain't sunshine and rainbows

[swiftscion]

Sitri approaches Larcei with a smile. “I am Lilian, here to deliver the gift from your envoy. Season's blessings, Princess Larcei.” In her hands there's a medium sized box. The note atop the wrapping paper reads, "To: Larcei. From: Your dashing Winter Envoy." Inside the box is a brand-new set of black leather sheath straps. Tucked neatly under the practical gift are a pair of silver dangly earrings--a bar about two inches long. Understated, yet they add a touch of elegance to any outfit. 

"Yo!" she greets with a wave, but soon finds herself quirking a brow. That formality on Sitri's lips is like a left shoe on a right foot: it isn't right. She dismisses it with a second, sheepish wave. "We've already met before. No need for that princess crap."

The gift soon takes her attention. It comes in two parts, which suggests that the whole breadth of her wishlist was taken into account. So far, so good. The straps are what captivate her first--the battle-loving thing she is. Of note is that while their make is superb, they aren't ornate. The sender's arse clearly hasn't been cushioned by a throne. After returning them to the box, she lets the earrings dangle between her fingers.

"Woah, check these out... I haven't changed my old ones in years..." They are held against the lobe of her ear as a point of comparison for the still-spectating Sitri. The eagerness in her eyes asks if they look any good.

Things take a turn when she reaches for the note. She scans it, and that word--dashing--makes her twitch. It can't be, it can't possibly be? ...Can it? Thoughts of him pop into her head. Her cheeks burn. He would use a word like that, but he couldn't possibly have returned just to give her this...!

"Er, th-thanks," Larcei coughs. Her face stains redder when she remembers she is still standing in front of Sitri. Straps and earrings fall back into the box and are swiftly shut away. They're damn good gifts, but the note, she still carries. Someone at this academy needs to be knocked down a peg, someone--crusaders by damned--dashing. The trick is scoping out who, without stroking their ego.

"You sure went through a lot to get this to me... I'll find whoever's responsible for this on my own."