#‘well. you’ve played it twice and you’re still voluntarily sitting here the last four hours watching two dudes you don’t know play it 2 so’

[ziracona]

Me with my encyclopedic Until Dawn knowledge trying to help guide and aid my friend into beating it in the best possible way without spoiling anything or making decisions for him POV:

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Three

Brought to you by: insomnia and the note that I had hurt someone with the last chapter. Also sorry I wrote this on my phone so typos.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

It’s.

Not.

Serious.

So, the next morning when you’re coming out of your apartment and you turn and see a leggy red head with her hand draped around his waist, you keep your eyes averted. You think quiet thoughts. You contemplate making a face like you forgot something so you can rush back inside and wait for them to pass. But just before you can imagine what facial expression could best convey “aw fuck, forgot my wallet” he turns and you catch his eye.

For half a second, its tense. Then, in an act that even amazes you, you smile at him, like he hadn’t just used you and your body and your fucking beer (which was expensive, by the way) as therapy nights earlier.

”Hey Javi,” you say. You pull the key from the door and stand up straight.

“Hey,” he says softly, not sure if he’s just been caught or if you really are this casual. To seal the deal, you check to make sure his date is looking up and elsewhere before you point to her and make a show of checking her out. Turning back to Javier, raise your eyebrows and hold up your hand, curling your forefinger down to your thumb in the universal sign of nice (👌). The dumbfounded look on his face makes you genuinely laugh, and you stride past the two of them with a smile.

“See you later, neighbour.” You call back without turning around. You don’t wait for a response before you let the door close behind you, and you’re stepping out into the sunshine.

You’re surprised you don’t fall asleep at your desk that day. Your neck is still aching from your sleep on the couch Sunday night, probably the second worst decision you made with your body all weekend. When you return to an empty stoop, you’re almost grateful he’s not there, sitting casually like he had just happened to choose that spot to sit and smoke. God, you really had been easy for him. One night of getting drunk and giving in and now you had to spend the rest of your tenancy pretending to be the cool girl neighbour who doesn’t care that he wallmate fucked her and chucked her.

Twice.

Its not surprising, really. Men have done this before to you, and while it sucks you should know better by now to view these kind of guys as the ones you use just as much as they use you. The only thing really hurting here, you think, is your stupid ego. It’s not even like you were going to try and date the neighbour. You didn’t really want to date anyone.

You stop in your tracks, midway up the stairs.

Yeah, actually- what were you complaining about?

You had a hot neighbour who was good in bed and showed he had no qualms about letting you crawl in with him. He wasn’t pressuring you to tell him how you felt, or dragging you out on dates you didn’t want to go on, or playing passive aggressive little mind games with you. He was just fucking you. And sharing cigarettes. Sure, maybe he came over and dropped some heavy emotional labour on your lap every once in a while, but he had paid you back for your time by making you cum so hard you honestly think you lost vision for a few seconds. And you actually did like hanging out with him on your little routine smoke breaks. Yeah. Yeah! This actually worked out really well for you, now that you thought about it critically.

Pleased with yourself, you wander over to your corner and pull a cigarette from your purse, bringing it to your lips. Just as you light it, from the corner of your eye you see a patch of blue walking your way. You look up and see Javi just as he notices you, making his way towards the steps. You smile and press the lighter into your pocket.

”Hey stranger,” you tease. His face is still a bit confused as he looks up at you once, ascending the steps.

“Hey,” he says, coming to stand beside you. He reaches into his own pocket and pulls out his pack. He pats himself down and you roll your eyes, pulling the lighter from your pocket and holding it out to him. He smiles when he sees it and takes it from your hand and, despite yourself, you smile too.

”Thanks,” he says before clicking the lighter and holding the cigarette out. He hands it back to you and the two of you stand in silence for a moment, watching the sunset across the sky.

”Some kid got glue in my hair today,” you say, taking another drag. You turn to look at him. “Lorenzo.”

“The one with the eye?”

You he told him about Lorenzo’s fake eye.

”Yeah,” you say, trying not to seem to impressed he remembered. “Took forever to get it out.”

Javier nods, taking a long drag.

“We arrested Escobar today,” he deadpans.

“ What.”

He turns back and smiles.

“I’m fucking with you.”

You smile, letting out a huff as you shake you head.

”Got me.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You turn and see the preschool teacher - Maritza, you think - standing to your left. You had been in such a daze as you waited for the coffee machine to finish you hadn’t noticed her come and stand next to you. She was a cute, small woman with big brown eyes and severe bangs, and the way she looked at you now reminded you of a little kid waiting for their parent to give them the present behind their back.

”Probably getting drunk at home and watching bad tv,” you say, turning to face her. “What’s up?”

“A few of us are going out tonight,” she says. “We thought you’d like the join.”

You stop and think of all the reasons going out now, on a Friday night, with a group of other women, in the middle of one of the deadliest cities in the world, would be a bad idea. But you also think of the three day old arepas waiting for you at home and the empty, stale apartment air you’d be eating them in. Your last few months had fallen into such a boring routine (with obvious exceptions) that you had completely forgotten going out was even a possibility. You told yourself you would wait until you had a group of friends to go out with, just to make it safer, but the only person you had gone out with was Javier, just that once.

“Come on,” she said, her round face breaking into a cute smile.

You found yourself smiling back.

”Yeah, why not?” you say.

Maritza tells you she and her friends will catch a taxi over to yours around 8. Ridiculously, you feel giddy as you catch yourself hurrying home. While you had only had a few pleasant exchanges with Maritza over recess, she had the kind of chaotic energy that accompanies all women who voluntarily spend most of their time with children under the age of six, and in your experience those were the bitches who always got the wildest. You were negotiating with yourself how drunk you’d let yourself get when you turned and walked up the stairs, barely noticing Javi in your smoke spot before he called out to you.

”Hey hermosa,” he said. You snapped your head back up, your concentration on whether or not there was really that much of a difference in your behaviour depending on three to four drinks shot. You were just compromising with yourself that it really depending on the liquor when he had called out to you.

”Hey,” you smile, coming to a stop beside him. He holds out a cigarette to you and you take it, popping it in your mouth. Before you can ask he’s got the lighter, and you lean in for a light.

“Want to grab a drink tonight?” He asks once you’ve settled into your spot beside him. You shake your head.

”Can’t. Got plans.”

”Oh yeah?” He turns to consider you. You give him a nod, unable to suppress the smile.

”Girl’s night,” you say. “Preschool teacher asked me to join.”

”The one with the bangs?”

You had told him about her bangs.

”Yep. The popular girls noticed me.”

“Where are you going?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Nope. You are not invited.”

He smiled. “I wasn’t-”

“Oh sure,” you say.

“You should just be safe, is all.” He says. “Stay out of certain places, you know, walk home together.”

“Believe it or not, this is not my first night out of the house ever.”

He frowns. “It’s dangerous. Just be smart.”

“Thanks mom,” you take a drag and turn towards him, your arms crossed. “And what shout I tell Bobby if he wants to go all the way?”

He scoffs and you break out in a grin. Shaking his head, he tosses his filter and moves around you, making for the door.

”Fucking smart ass.”

You’re always too eager to be on time. It’s a bad habit. It always ends with you showing up to parties too early and then it’s just you and the host making small talk over the fruit salad they thought they had at least another half hour to make. Whatever. Tonight that means you just get to spend the next hour looking really hot in your own apartment.

You find yourself standing still for a moment, wondering what you should do. Sitting down and reading seems like a weird thing to do when you’re dressed like this, but neither does sitting and watching tv. You wish for a minute you had been more picky about make up or hair but everything has set and you don’t want to risk fucking with it. You make for your kitchen and pull the bottle of tequila from the cabinet, reaching to grab a glass. You take a quick shot and are about to pour another when an idea runs through your head. You walk down and across to the wall opposite of the couch and knock three times.

You hear faint movement from the other side and grin to yourself.

“Javi?” You call.

A moment later, you hear a muffled “Yeah?”

“You want a drink?” You wait for his response, but instead of answering you hear his door open and close. You smile, pulling another glass from the cabinet when there’s a knock on your door.

“It’s open,” you shout, pouring two fingers into one of the glasses. A moment later he walks in, his eyes on the floor.

“You should really lock that,” he says, turning to watch you walk down towards him with two drinks. His eyebrows raise as he looks you up and down, and even though you’re supposed to be the cool girl who is very unaffected by her hot neighbour who she just sometimes fucks, it makes swell with some pride.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got a cop next door.” You hold out the glass for him. His eyes flick back up from your waist as he reaches out to take it, wetting his lip with a dart of his tongue.

“Can’t get over here that fast enough.” He says.

“Hm,” you walk over to the wall. “Two knocks for ‘help’, three for ‘I’m fine.’” You demonstrate.

“Or you could just lock your door,” he looks at you over the rim of his glass. You roll your eyes.

“Such a cop,” you toss back your out drink. You wipe your mouth as he watches. “My parents would kill me.”

“Drug traffickers?” He asks

“Almost. Hippies.”

He cracks a smile at that. “This when you tell me your real name is Moonbeam or something?”

“It’s Starlight, actually.” You sit on the couch and gesture for him to join you. He follows your lead, sitting in the exact spot where only a week earlier he had post coitally confided in you. You try and ignore it.

“I’m an agent,” he corrects you.

You kiss your teeth. “Even worse. They’d keel over if they found out baby Starlight fucked ‘the man’.”

“You haven’t for a while,” he says, reaching out to lay a hand on your ankle. You’re embarrassed by how the electricity shoots up you leg, directly to the apex of your thighs.

You laugh. “A week is not a while.” You kick your feet onto the floor and stand, walking back to the kitchen for more drink.

“You sure you want to go out tonight?” He turns and watches you as you pull the cork from the bottle and pour yourself a third drink. So much for that negotiation. You wonder if you can buy bread on the way there. Surely. “My offer for a drink still stands.”

“Mmm, I wonder what that’s code for.” You sit down on the other side of the couch and, feeling bold, stretch your legs out again. “Thank you, but I already told them I’d go.”

He shrugs, bringing the drink back up to his mouth. “Gonna be a boring night,”

You tap his thigh with the tip of your heel. “First I need to be safe, now it’s going to be boring?”

He shrugs again. “Just saying. When you’re disappointed later, you know where I’ll be, hermosa.”

You’re not disappointed.

You and Javier drink for a while longer, swapping stories about Texas and being an expat and dumb, innocuous work shit when you hear a cacophony of giggles followed by a rapid series of knocks at your door. You stand and grab your purse, Javier following in your step as you swing open the door and see Maritza with her two friends, tipsy and giggling on your mat.

“Heyyyyuu guapa,” Maritza says. You’re thankful you weren’t the only one drinking early. The woman behind her- tall and beautiful, you’ll learn her name is Alessa- offers you a small bottle of liquor. You raise you hand to take it as all three of their eyes flick towards the man approaching from behind you.

“Ladies,” he says, hovering behind you. You can’t see his face, but you know the smug bastard is loving every second of this. You recognise the look that flashes across their faces as their eyes flick from him to you, and you smile as you take a quick swig from the bottle.

“Javier was just leaving,” you explain, reaching back and ushering him out by the shoulder.

“Does he have to?” The third girl - Lisa - asks. Alessa gives her a quick seat on the arm.

“He does,” Javier answers, nodding. “You ladies have a good night.” His eyes meet yours for a brief second before he’s turning and walking to his apartment. The girls watch him as he disappears inside as you lock your own door, and when you turn around to tell them you’re ready, the looks on their faces are demanding answers.

Fuck it. You’re drunk.

“Yeah, I am.” You laugh, and all three of them squeal.

Fuck. You had forgotten how fun this was.

The taxi ride over had been a whirlwind of questions and much to the annoyance of the driver, you answered each and every dirty one with as little detail as to remain polite but still subtlety brag that you indeed were fucking the hot guy in your apartment. You missed having girlfriends to gossip with, to giggle over sex and boys. Alessa was married without any kids, but she turned out to be the most curious about you and Javier’s situation. Even though there wasn’t much to tell, you were high on the attention and leaned into each question, a little surge of what could only be feminine pride exploding in your chest when the women blushed at your answers and squealed in delight.

Maritza had said she knew the owner of the club( “she’s lying, she doesn’t know shit.” Lisa laughed with you as she handed you the bottle) you arrived at, and disappeared for a few minutes before reappearing at the back and waving the three of you in. Turns out the owner was actually the janitor, but the result was the same: four passes inside without having to pay. (“Not that we would,” Maritza had said. “But just in case.”). It was thrilling, sneaking through the dark hallways, each of you with their hand on another woman’s shoulder as you giggled, trying to keep quiet. You were drunk enough that you let Alessa pull you onto the dance floor as Maritza and Lisa went to the bar to get drinks. The lights and sounds were overwhelming and you felt blissfully lost in the sea of bodies that, to you, seemed to flow together. When the girls returned, some fruity concoction in their hands, you were already sweating for exertion, and felt larger, warm hands encircle your waist.

For a brief, fleeting second, you thought Javier had followed you to the club, but upon turning around you realised it was very much not Javier. This guy was younger, maybe even a few years younger than you, with big hazel eyes that somehow - alcohol? Magic? - shone through the pulsing lights of the club. Deeming him handsome enough to allow it, you turned and began to grind against him, for a few songs. Finally, during a lull in the music, he leaned forward.

“You’re a shit dancer,” he said

You laughed before reaching back up and pulling him back down to whisper in his ear. “I’ve got better rhythm on my back.”

Messy. But it got the point across.

You felt his thumb on your chin, tilting you up to face him. When he kissed you, he tasted like chapstick and cheap beer. It wasn’t warm or soft or desperate, but it was nice. And nice was enough for you tonight.

The girls behind you cheered in approval when they saw you. Blushing, you turned back to face them, grinding your ass against the growing hardness in your partner’s jeans. At some point during the night you were separated, but you quickly forgot about him when it was Lisa’s turn to pull a man. Doing your friendly duty, you cheered along with Alessa and Maritza as you watched her lead the tall stranger back to the bathrooms, only to reappear fifteen minutes later slightly rumpled but much happier. She did three shots after that.

The night continued to go well- true to you hypothesis, Maritza was a wild card. At some point she managed to crawl on the bar and convince three different men in soccer jerseys to take a shot from between her breasts, before reaching behind the bar and stealing a whole bottle of vodka while the barkeep was distracted. It was only about fifteen minutes before she had passed the bottle to every member of the soccer team when the manager finally noticed and kicked the whole group of you out.

As you stood outside, the four of you giggling and hovering around the equally drunk soccer players, you felt a hand wrap around your waist. Turning, you recognise your dance partner from earlier.

“Hey,” you say. Behind you, your new friends are busy flirt-arguing with the soccer captain.

“Hey,” he says back. “You want to get out of here?”

You give him the once over. He’s cute, toned, and he’s wearing the same jersey as the rest of the teammates. You laugh and look over to the line of taxis, wondering if you’re really about to take this guy up on his offer.

“How old are you?” You ask.

“25.”

You shake your head. “You look like trouble.”

“I am.” He smiles, and you catch those hazel eyes once again.

Fuck it.

You catch a taxi pretty easily, and once you two are in the back seat he’s all over you, pulling you against him to kiss your neck and fondle at your top. For a grown man, he acts like a boy getting to touch his first tit. You send an apologetic look to the driver when you arrive at your apartment after he pays, but quickly forget your embarrassment when he catches you around the waist and pulls you into a sloppy, messy kiss. You’re giddy off the drink and the energy of the night and kiss him back with equal finesse. After a moment you realise you’re still in the street and reach down to take his hand. You’re just outside your apartment door, shamelessly making out, when Javi’s door swings open.

Oh. Oh to be able to record the way Javier’s face falls the moment that cocky smile and planned, snide comment he had ready dies upon seeing another man draped around your back, sucking at your neck. He must have heard you return and come out to bully you into admitting it wasn’t really a fun night without him, and now he’s standing frozen, the extra cigarette you imagine was meant for you caught between his fingers. The man currently sucking a welt onto your neck looks up.

“You want a picture or something?” He asks. You swat his arm and turn, unlocking the door to your apartment quickly before they can engage in some bullshit machismo. You reach down and take your companions hand and urge him to follow you in before shooting Javier an apologetic look.

“Sorry Javi,” you say. “We’ll keep it down.”

And you shut the door behind you.

Look. You weren’t trying to get revenge. It just turns out Isaac (that’s his name) is really, really good at sex. That, or you’re really really drunk. Either way, you’re not the quiet partner you usually are. It doesn’t help that he, unlike the last person you slept with, has a young, heavily exercised back and can flip you into positions like the two of you are competing in couples ice dancing at the fucking Olympics. You even remember, in between rounds, to shove a sock between your headboard and the wall. Not that that really helps, when you’re about eight tequila drinks in and a young, stupidly ripped athlete is railing you from behind.

You also really, really didn’t think that in the morning you would be even awake enough to fuck, let alone do the breathy moaning that’s falling out of your mouth now as he hoists your leg over his side and pumps into you, flicking at your clit like he’s playing a guitar. You honestly, in your still drunk haze, forget that Javier is even on the other side of your wall.

When the two of you finally finish and Issac turns down your offer for breakfast, you throw on a sundress and walk him to the door. The two of you pause before opening the larger door outside, and he leans down to kiss you and assure you that, although it’s such a bummer his team has to go back to Cali, he had a great time with you. You play along, letting the kid have his ego stroked, and kiss him before he turns and heads out the door, into the morning and out of your life. Still smiling to yourself, you don’t realise Javier is standing in his doorway, lit cigarette dangling from his lips with his arms crossed.

“When’s the wedding?” He asks, and you know he’s trying to play it off, to be the cool guy in all of this. But you also hear that buried edge in his voice, and you know you’ve gotten under his skin.

Smiling, you saunter up to him and pluck the cigarette from his lips, holding his gaze as you take a long, large inhale.

“Oh Javi,” you sigh, exhaling. “It’s not serious.”

[northeasternwind]

ornstein obtain.... boi

(while i’m writing all the.... actual romance shit that everyone’s actually interested in have some plot ORNSTEIN GETS A NEW SON if you’ve played berseria you know exactly where this is going but you’re not allowed to tell anyone else shhhh)

Ceres takes his arm, and this time there is no helmet to hide Ornstein’s smile. She returns with her own, warmer than her wont, and together they step out into the streets of Anor Londo.

The city of the gods is always one of light, even under the moon: lamps of every kind line the streets, flames burning within glass and catalysts amplifying the shine of the stars. Ornstein only rarely has reason to be out and about at this time of day, so as Ceres leads him by the arm he takes the time to admire his home.

Their destination, it seems, is in the lower end of the city: they are walking for quite some time, past the noble residential neighborhoods and the marketplaces and the entertainment districts, until Ornstein finds himself in the less-traveled outskirts of Anor Londo. The buildings are just as well-made here, as beautiful as anything in the palace, but it is clear that the residents have been less meticulous about its upkeep: the bricks and stones are chipped at the corners in places, the mortar slightly discolored.

Ceres leads him to one of the larger residences, the windows still lit even at this late hour. She knocks twice, then releases Ornstein to reach into her pockets— for a key, he sees.

“Didst thou live here, before becoming a knight?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says simply, before the sound of someone unlocking the door from the inside makes her search unnecessary.

The woman who answers the door is… not the sort Ornstein might have thought Ceres would associate with. Her long blond hair is arranged into two enormous spirals, and her clothes are a wild quilt of bright green, pink and orange. She looks rather like a clown, Ornstein thinks before he can stop himself, and this assessment is not helped by her reaction to their appearance.

“Oooooh, I thought you didn’t like boys!” she coos. “Or girls, or anyone else for that matter. A marriage of convenience, oh Sir Ceres?”

“How is he?” Ceres only asks— with such a tenderness that Ornstein is immediately distracted. The strange woman deflates, suddenly adopting an expression that would not be out of place on Ornstein’s own face.

“Same as ever, I’m afraid. He seems content enough with us, but I really think you should find some way to take him with you.”

“I will try,” Ceres promises. “Is he asleep?”

The woman turns to call over her shoulder. “Laphiceeeeeeet! Ceres is here to see you!”

Ceres looks briefly unhappy to be ignored, but her expression softens as the sound of footsteps grows louder: she steps into the building, reaching back to pull Ornstein inside behind her, and he has just enough time to close the door before turning back to encounter a sight that tugs at his heart.

Padding quietly down the steps is a young boy, blond and robed and still bearing all the physical signs of childhood on his face. But all that is overshadowed by his eyes— a dull, lifeless green, not blank like Ceres but empty like the Undead, void of any expression or emotion. It is unnatural, unsettling, disturbing, and as the boy approaches Ornstein feels uncomfortable in a way he cannot quite explain.

“I’ll leave you three alone,” the woman sings, and then bounces up the stairs the way the boy came. Ornstein hears a door slam somewhere in the house, along with some startled yelling.

“Hello, Laphicet,” Ceres greets, quietly but with all the love that Ornstein has never once heard from her in their time together. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ornstein does not start, but only because he has been trained not to do so. Mother. This poor, empty child is Ceres’s son, and with a sinking feeling Ornstein realizes just why Ceres must have decided to give up her solitary lifestyle for all the trappings of knighthood.

Ceres answers with a wan, untrue smile— for whose benefit, Ornstein wonders— and then looks up at him. “Captain Ornstein, this is my son, Laphicet. Laphicet, this is Sir Ornstein, Captain of the Four Knights of Gwyn.”

Laphicet’s gaze travels upwards to meet Ornstein’s, but otherwise there is no change in his expression.

“Would you like me to make something for you?”

“Yes,” Laphicet answers tonelessly.

“Will you sit at the sofa and wait for me?”

“Yes.”

Laphicet turns and lifts himself obediently onto the sofa, leaving Ceres to drag Ornstein to the kitchen. At once she gets to work, opening cupboards and retrieving a pan, some spices, and other ingredients Ornstein has no mind to name.

“How long has he been this way?” he asks, through the desert of his mouth.

“For as long as he has lived,” Ceres answers, with the closest thing to despair Ornstein has ever heard from her. “Ever since he was a babe he has never uttered a word of complaint, never shed a tear, never smiled. I believed at first that I was simply inadequate— he has never had a father, blood or otherwise, and I was his only company for much of his life— but moving to Anor Londo did not improve his condition.”

Ornstein swallows around a stone in his throat, watching as Ceres works with a furor that does not suit her. That raises its own questions, but his mind lingers on the deprived child waiting for them in the sitting room. “It is not natural.”

She does not scold him for making such an obvious statement. “I became a knight to earn renown, and perhaps aid from the palace,” she says. “But… your staff do not trust the priorities of mothers.”

“Thou lied’st to become a knight,” Ornstein realizes.

“I have tried everything,” Ceres says, barely audible over the rise and fall of her knife. “For him, I would seek forgiveness and possibly not receive it rather than be denied permission, and the chance to even attempt a solution. But even after becoming the Captain of the Princess Guard I have been too afraid to seek the aid that was my purpose from the first.”

“Thou desirest mine assistance.”

“I ask nothing of thee.” Ornstein watches Ceres’s expression, what little he can see of it soften. “Thou hast already given me the courage to risk everything at last. I merely wished to introduce thee to my dear boy.”

The stone in Ornstein’s throat grows, such that words are impossible. He can only watch as Ceres goes on chopping, and then scooping the vegetable chunks into a bowl.

He has never expected— or, indeed, wanted— true love from her. But he still bears an affection for her that makes her regard special, coveted even, and to have been trusted with such a precious secret…

“...Thou sayest he has no father?” he ventures.

Ceres does not answer for several long moments, fishing out a container of oil and turning on the stove.

“...My first memory in this world is of giving birth to him,” she says finally, pouring the oil as though she were merely discussing the weather. “At the bottom of a great crevasse, in the Age of Dark. I have no knowledge of who his biological father might be.”

There is much to unpack there. “The Age of Dark?” Ornstein asks incredulously. “He may be older than some of the knights!”

“He is. But he simply… ceased to grow one day, and has remained a child ever since.”

“And thou hast cared for him since his birth, with no memory of thyself or thy world.”

Ceres smiles. “I have loved him since the moment I saw him.”

And yet, Ornstein would not wish such an ordeal upon anyone. “Seek the aid of thy mistress. If she is not moved, send for me. If by my word I can assist thee, only ask and I shall.”

Ceres’s smile becomes something true, lifting her cheeks until she appears almost normal. “As thou bidst, my captain. I am utterly in thy debt.”

Ornstein does not smile— their success is not guaranteed— but his mood is somewhat lighter when they lapse into silence this time, Ceres heaping vegetables and spices and meats Ornstein cannot quickly identify into the pan. It is not quite domestic— not with the new knowledge of Ceres’s child and his strange condition looming over them— but it is the sort of quiet companionship Ornstein has longed for, though not with her.

Laphicet, Ornstein soon learns, definitely has a personality even if some strange force is currently suppressing it. The boy moves with a languor troubling in most children, but eats his mother’s curry with a haste unlike any of his other behavior. His gaze traces the embroidery on Ornstein’s clothes, lingers on the compass Ornstein keeps on his person at all times. He does not ask to see it, but wordlessly accepts it when Ornstein gives it to him anyway, and does not voluntarily offer it back when it is time for them to go.

(He lets the boy keep it. He can find another.)

“Do not speak to the other knights of this,” he orders upon their return, as though she does not already know. “Confide only in the Princess.”

Ceres nods, slipping her arm out of his. “Thou hast my sincerest thanks, Captain.”

“I need it not,” Ornstein dismisses. “Good night, Sir Ceres. Please keep me informed.”

“Captain.”