#egittae

[hermidetta]

Bernadetta is that you I see hiding in the bushes? What are you doing at the training grounds Bernadetta? Should you not be at the ball?

bernie was just looking for uncle uber driver

[rafent]

"Does it hurt to be polite...to your students, mister? It is not ideal to throw words like these around so carelessly at youngsters you should be supervising." He had heard the...uhm...harlot comment, and couldn't help but find it in himself to try to intervene. "Have respect!

A pause. Then he crossed his arms. "Besides, it is not like you have that much property to complain about her body or way of dress, so..." He made a single motion with his hand- flat. Nothing else had to be said.

Black swallowed white and all view of the ceiling above, eclipsing the crystal chandeliers as if smog had been smeared across an artificial sun. Surroundings darker, dragon colder, Rafal remained unflappable at the roost of a tall shadow over his seated form with pale head fixed and motionless. Eyes merely flicking upward to enact a sharply displeased glare, no less than the aggregate of a thousand ready daggers and then some. Who would risk life and limb to dare disturb his peace? No doubt this one thought himself a lion.

"Humph, how very dull. Do you wield such tiresome insistence with every new person you've yet to know?"

One swing of his leg over the knee. Knuckles folded, boxy and compact, against a smooth cheek. Frigid from one angle in these seamless and uncaring motions, bored witless from another, his gaze languidly traveled the towering length of the man's body. This cursory examination of the other when studied alongside his words yielded multiple observations; that he too was installed in a position of authority over the student flock; that he was an intrusive do-gooder type.

That he was unimaginably noisy.

"My name is Rafal, not mister. And 'have respect' I will not." A minuscule shift like the rippling of a viper's scales beneath light, his frosty demeanor thawed ever so slightly on a budding smirk, doled out for the insinuating wave of hand; however intended it was to reprimand, only Rafal's amusement met the gesture. "However, you will find me most fair. I welcome equal treatment and those who chase it. Anyone that wishes to call me names is perfectly free to do so."

There existed a caveat, as to be expected. Darkly, the Fell Dragon chuckled as his insidious smile bloomed in full: "—at every possible risk to themselves, of course."

[machiot]

@egittae sent:

"Marni..." She was one of the more difficult ones to handle. A strong and confident girl for sure with skill dripping from the blade of her ax, but impossible to get to class or discipline. "What is this scheme I hear of trying to take another teacher's shirt? You do not need me to tell you that this is not good..."

He crossed his arms. "How about we stop that and find something less...potentially troublesome to pass time with? Something that does not involve stealing people's clothes? How about you show me your ax technique?"

Uh oh, here comes the fun police to shut her down.

"What? No way," Marni says bluntly. "I was promised a whole mountain of praise if I pull this off. Besides, I can have you tell me how great I am with an axe any other day, but today is special! I'm not gonna have an opportunity like this again!"

This guy had been a major pain in her side ever since he showed his sorry face. What use did she have for all those stupid classes? She knows she's strong already and if she wants to get even stronger, experience has taught her that she'll need to do it on her own. Everyone else... is just a bunch of weaklings who would hold her back.

"Besides, me and His Kingliness go way back! I even knew him back when he was still just a prince, so don't butt in to a little joke between buddies. Or what, you're some kinda killjoy that hates friendship?"

She would not describe herself and Diamant as friends, like, ever, but this guy didn't need to know that.

[ulircursed]

"Atta boy, so you got yourself a date for the ball? Way to go, make me proud!"

He shouldn't be having that much fun with this.

"Wh— how did you—??" Andrei knows word travels fast in the monastery, but this is ridiculous. Had someone been listening into his conversation with Naesala and then decided to spread that information like some sort of juicy gossip, enough that it would reach the depths of the Abyss within hours?

The professor's next words stop him in his tracks, however, and Andrei's fists clench involuntarily at the mention of pride. Is he speaking in mere jest, or is this — and what exactly is this? securing a partner for an official event? taking a forward step, however unsteady and uncertain, in whatever kind of relationship he had with the raven? — truly something that would, could, elicit pride?

(Would Father have been— (What a foolish question. Why ask that which he had long known the answer to?)

"...This is nothing for you to concern yourself over, Professor," he says quietly, and his tone would be cold if not for how it trembles at the edges of his words, "Nor do I need your opinion, positive or otherwise, on the matter."

Please, do not promise me something that I will grieve when I inevitably make the wrong choices to lose it.

[albwreckt]

"You are a tall one, boy! But you gave me an idea for a financial responsability class."

"And you're an old one, pal! But if I show up to your money-management thing, would you slide a guy some extra credit? I, uh, bent my last lance."

[boundlesschaos]

[ garden ]

Though he was there to supervise the students, Lambert still withheld the right to wander around and leave the ballroom every now and then for the sake of his own wellbeing. He truly did enjoy parties, but if there was one thing he did notice was how his body grew restless fairly quickly, urging him to walk around- and that was how he found the garden. A genuinely lovely place, really. Ideal for a romantic date.

But he was there for no date. Actually the person he did spot was one that spooked him in surprise, earning a pointed finger from the professor. “You!”

That girl- blazing eyes, her face always obscured, dark hair. She was one of his students…or at least was supposed to be. Lambert knew she existed, but almost never spotted her himself. “So, you have been skipping my classes have you not? Smart, but now I shall keep a close eye on you, young lady.”

His indignation lasted for maybe a solid 10 seconds, before he chuckled and sighed. “It is fine, though do come to class every now and then, will you? You go by Niamh, correct? If you tell me what you enjoy to learn, perhaps I can adjust my classes to better fit your learning habits.”

Though there were many curiosities among the crowd of people, Niamh was still a person who required a retreat from the loud and vibrant dance hall. She had taken a trip to the gardens to rest her racing mind, gather her thoughts so she can thrust herself back into the battlefield that she's set upon herself-

Wait, hold on, huh? What? Who?

Niamh's initial reaction to Lambert's remarks is a prolonged stare. Starting at first puzzled and surprised herself, it eventually settles to one of intrigue. A soft gasp of recognition breaks her silence.

"Right, you're..." Whoops. Niamh does try her best, but her interests often find herself in the fields, the mountains, anywhere but the classroom itself. She really does forget sometimes that going to class is a required expectation out of her. Her memory of her teachers are no better.

She does decide to entertain an answer, though. It's a comfortable subject for her to discuss. "...I've been researching some of the flora and fauna...and locating anything that may be out of place. I study them to determine if their abnormalities are born through genetics or magical interference..."

She kneels down, examining one of the flowers in the garden. They're small, fragile little things - something Niamh takes care not to harm. "If it is through magic, I can apply that knowledge into my studies...there's still a lot we don't know about it..." her eyes wander back towards the other; "And a lot that can only be found through travel."

Still, she won't say no to joining in on classes sometimes. So she decides to make that known. "...it's been a little bit since I've been in a classroom though. A change of pace would be nice..."

She's missing the point but, you know. It's the thought that counts, right?

[livedtoserve]

[ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 ] (teacher bonding time with pain)

still bottled up | still accepting!

She must keep working, she cannot and will not stop.

The depths of the monastery are in utter disarray. Nothing compared to the spotless hallways of the Northern Fortress, or any of the previous Nohrian manors she was temporarily assigned to for that matter. Dust litters nearly every corner of the walls and pillars, their classrooms lacked straight tabling at times, and even the floor itself refused to conform to an acceptable straightness.

How was she - no, how was anyone - meant to live with any amount of comfort in a state like this?!

Flora decides on a course of action, nothing would get done if she is listing the problems rather than solving them. The dust bunny army seems like a simple enough start. This feather duster she obtained from the market is perhaps a tad small to expect a clean street in a day, but the maid will make it work. She must make it work.

Minutes become hours as she commits to her labor. At times she has to double down on a spot on the wall to truly finish it off, but she finds no harm in such repetition. It keeps her busy, keeps her working. More working is less thinking of what she has lost. Servitude has kept her alive in the past, and it will keep her alive now.

Flora can feel the stares from passersby as she flings her body from wall to wall. None of them speak up in protest, so she ignores the looks and goes on with her toiling. That is, until she is at last stopped by an older man, one she barely recognizes yet can somewhat recall from his towering height and long, blonde hair. A fellow instructor for the souls trapped down here.

And...he is requesting her to take a break? But she is not even halfway done. Perhaps he doesn't understand.

"Master Lambert...am I correct?" Flora a bow, a small courtesy to back up her refusal. "I apologize for alarming you, but I feel fine enough to continue a while longer. You should expect this place to be clean by the evening."

Her words do not align with her figure. Piles of sweat coat the sides of her face, a face that is struggling to maintain a stone-cold smile after days of failed rest. The performance of bowing is enough to threaten her posture to self-destruct and topple her over. Now that it's on her mind...when was her last glass of water?

Flora looks up at the professor that holds a stare that implies he will not take "no" as an answer. Not in a way ignorant to her feelings, but one that is concerned for her needs. That face...it reminds her of another senior who would try to stop the young maid while she was ahead. No matter how hard she argued or attempted to sneak by, the knight would never allow her to burn out.

"...though if you insist, I may rest for some time. Ten minutes at most," Flora quietly sighs, though it is one of relief and not disappointment. "Might I be selfish to request the nearest place to get something to drink?"

[old-scalebag]

[ fashion police ]

“Oh what is that.” A whisper that barely managed to be heard over the music and crowd was most likely what reached Dheginsea’s ears as Lambert stood next to him. Lambert looked up at the other man, offering an easy smile. “Hello Dheginsea, I did expect you to come. You are always dressed in rich outfits, it is impressive truly.”

“What is not impressive is that knight over there.” That part of the sentence was said between clenched teeth, only for Dheginsea to hear. “I am not one to judge as I do not even have a proper outfit to wear…but I assume that someone who does have the means to prepare an outfit would at least get something that does not look….uhm…” The professor made vague gestures, perhaps using the other man’s large frame to obscure himself a little.

“...something that does not look like a Day of Devotion garland.” What the best way he could describe it. “I suppose taste truly is personal. What do you think, my friend?”

It wasnt hard for him to spot just who Lambert was referring to, given his height over everyone here. What Dheginsea did not expect, however, was that he would unfortunately be familiar with the individual in question. An individual whom Dheginsea did not have high opinions of to begin with. And whose outfit somehow managed to lower those same opinions even further- To the point that his once amicable and calm expression soured over and hardened into something colder in mere seconds.

So when his colleague tried to obscure himself with his frame while making odd gestures. Dheginsea allowed it. For he did not mind . In fact, he aided a little by turning ever so slightly to better block the line of sight should said ‘k n i g h t’ ever turn to look their way. “I agree. While taste is a personal matter beholden to the individual. Anyone with half a wit would know that such an outfit is highly inappropriate for tonight's occasion.” In deference to the branded man, Dheginsea kept his voice low. For he could understand why the Lambert might not want to draw attention to himself. Even if he is correct.

The dragon on the other hand couldn’t care less about the person of topic and had turned his head to stare directly at the hooligan.

“However, that clown over there is no knight of the church. But a professor of the Golden Deer house.. and a pain to work with.” Dheginsea lets out huffs and shakes his head. “Truly one of the most incompetent and irresponsible beorcs I’ve ever met… It’s only a matter of time before he gets himself kicked out.” Of the ball? The school? Dheginsea doesn’t clarify and doesn’t need to with how thick his disappointment and disdain is in his voice. “Consider yourself fortunate for not needing to deal with him. . .”

[knightofgalatea]

[ Dona Dona Fried Set ]

“Fried, friend and…look at that, fried as well.” The professor frowned at the offered dish. It did look and smell delightful and Lambert would be insane to refuse it, but just staring at it made something in his body cry a little bit. Probably his stomach. His memories were feeble, but he did remember he was a man of Faerghus and that in the Kingdom this much fried stuff is not very common.

A student near him seemed much more enthusiastic with the dish, though. A girl that sent alarm bells in his mind- familiar. Something within his brain remembered this person, those green eyes, that attitude, that blond hair. But her name was left behind in the fog, so all he could do was to push back on the slight frustration building at his own inability to remember.

“You seem to be enjoying the menu offered for the party more than anyone else here. That is truly impressive!” Indeed, her appetite was commendable- even if that insistent part of his mind felt a slight sadness towards it. “Allow me to guess, you are a knight in training?”

Ingrid blinked, her hands weighed down by the plate she had been piling food onto. The ball was for dancing and enjoying the night with friends, certainly, but how could she turn down trying the array of different foods spread across all the tables?

It was already hard enough not to take seconds at the cafeteria on regular days, and here there were more foods than she knew the names of.

She’d been reaching for some of the fried offerings, fried chicken dripping in grease, the smell of spices and breading hanging over this section of the table like a veil. And then she’d heard someone speaking, drawing her attention from the food.

Ingrid opened her mouth to respond as she looked up, only to snap her jaw shut again. It was a professor standing nearby, that she knew. She was certain she had seen him from a distance not long after he’d arrived at the academy, but she hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with him.

So surely that was why he looked familiar, wasn’t it?

But no, there was something else there. Something about the cut of his face and the blue of his eyes. It prickled at something in the back of her mind, like a sliver of wood caught in her skin that she could not manage to pick out.

In the end she nodded, knowing it was rude to ignore a direct question. “I am. Or I hope to be at least.”

Now that was more than a sliver she could not free from where it had been buried. That was a bone-deep ache, that rippled through her whenever she thought of her dream to be a knight. The likelihood of it ever coming to pass.

“Training works up quite the appetite, although I must admit whether I had been training or not I would still be trying to taste everything.” She turned her attention back to the fried foods, to the professor still half-turned towards it. “And what of you? Are you enjoying the menu?”

[starrook]

[ beckon ]  your muse beckoning mine to them without speaking . (reverse)

Lambert was not oblivious to his surroundings, particularly outside of the Abyss where there were no sharp corners and shadows to aid someone’s concealment. He had already spotted that kid a few times here and there by the corner of his eye, the glint of that silver hair clip shining just right for the professor to tell it was him.

He would give kudos to the boy though, Lambert hadn’t been able to see his face properly so far. He relied simply on the sun’s grace to give his general location out to him and the specific memory of his silhouette.

Perhaps it has been just a sequence of coincidences. That kid, despite his age, seemed to be one of the Academy’s knights rather than a student. Maybe Lambert just happened to always stumble through his patrol time.

Or maybe not. Who knows.

The moment he spotted that silver glint in his peripheral, azure pools immediately focused on the boy. Dark blue hair, silver clip, warm eyes framed by a gentle look but that surely hid a raging inferno. Archer.

He reminded Lambert of a fawn, in all honesty. Harmless-looking, scrawny, easy to startle. But only a fool would underestimate a cornered prey animal, as they can be more lethal than any predator could ever hope to be.

After a quick assessment, Lambert waved with a smile, and motioned for the boy to come closer. Regardless of intentions, it was polite to properly greet a knight in service. 

“I have spotted you in my vicinity a couple times by now, so I figured I should at least greet you this time.” A chuckle. “Worried about a teacher wandering around?”

Countless people offered Alcryst advice on how to endure his father's loss. None mentioned what he ought to do if the man happened to come back from the dead as if nothing ever happened. It's uncharted territory, one that Alcryst isn't sure how to navigate. With no rules to fall back on, the young prince ends up inventing his own.

The very first one: Father may well die again. The thought never haunted Alcryst before the way it does now. All he wants is for his father to live out his natural life as he should have done the first time. If something horrible claimed his life again... Alcryst can hardly stand the thought.

It's good that Father is making friends with those Alcryst recognizes from around the monastery. But the one he seems closest to, he doesn't quite know who that man is. Odd. Alcryst follows him for a few days, compelled to find the truth, only to come up dry. That's the only reason why he answers the man's invitations, stepping out from around the corner to approach him.

...So Alcryst tells himself. He's imagined dozens of ways he'd confront his man about his father, but put on the spot like this he can't remember any of them. Alcryst remains guarded to hide his growing uncertainty.

Getting called out for following the guy breaks his silence. "I, I," Alcryst stammers, "I... yes, I was following you. I'm sorry. It's because..." That guy you talk to a bunch? That's my dad. And he should only be around trustworthy people. As if he could honestly come out with all that without sounding insane!!

"I wasn't sure who you were," he admits. "I see you on monastery grounds sometimes but can't put a name to your face. You say you're a teacher, but..." Alcryst frowns, allowing his doubts to lead his questioning. "What sort of classes do you teach?"

[verseandrhyme]

[rope]

“Mitama, by any chance...is that algae on your ankle supposed to be moving?”

Beach (beach) | accepting!

Diving into the water had managed to dislodge the wretched crab that had somehow found its way to her hair. Mitama kept running her fingers through it again and again anyways, making absolutely sure that the phantom sensation of spindly legs was just that - a phantom.

The perpetrator of the crime (who she cannot truly be mad at, the retaliation was fair play, but she would be mad at anyway) even had the audacity to linger and speak with her. Mitama scowled. "What are you-"

Something wet shifted on her leg.

Mitama's eyes went wide. The beach's atmosphere was interrupted by sudden, piercing shrieking before the sound of a reason spell cracked through the air. "GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF!"

[hermidetta]

[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ] : sender drapes a coat / cape / etc. around receiver's shoulders.

“You are from Adrestia.”

It was a statement. No, it wasn’t because he had looked into her student profile, or her surname served as more than enough sign as to who she was and where she was from. It was just the fact that it wasn’t even that cold yet, and he could tell the purple-haired girl was shivering. Lambert frowned, arms crossed. “You look like a twig in the harsh wind, I can hear your teeth clattering. Kind of hard to pay attention in class when you are busy trying to keep yourself warm…this academy of yours does not have winter uniforms to offer?”

The Abyss was cold, but many areas of it were pretty warm because of the lack of wind from outside. But this was a mountain and the main academy was fully exposed to the elements, so he could tell that for the students from above the coming of winter was probably pretty tricky- mainly for those who hailed from warmer lands.

“Here, cover yourself. Resistance to temperature and the elements is important, but there is a line between slowly acclimating and letting a student freeze out of stubbornness.” Part of him feels like at some point he did exactly the opposite of what he was saying, but oh well. “Just try to not fall asleep, though.”

* for you i would.

mr. lambert? you still haven't told me why mr. morion calls you babygirl

several things that are fact: bernadetta hails from the adrestian empire, bernadetta hails not from the holy kingdom of faerghus, and probably most of all—bernadetta von varley is a weakling who would have withered in this weather either way. (and isn't that the tongue twister?)

but lambert is correct, too. bernadetta is still acclimating to most natural elements, partly on account of her hardly emerging from her room, partly on account of her home country. winter especially had no fondness for her. if she already had such little incentive to leave her room before, it was no more tempting whenever frost bit into bones and the gardens grew bare. and that was still just adrestia.

(military school wants her dead in the dirt.)

shoulders hunched and drawn into herself, bernadetta nestles in the paltry reprise of her little blue hood—and she tries, she tries to look unaffected like strong students should. it doesn't help that the cold makes her sleepy.

but just when the corners of her vision are beginning to blur, bernadetta is enveloped by fleece. the soothing weight drapes over her like a sheet of salvation, and her head tilts up to professor lambert. of course, his cloak is enormous like him. the girl named bernadetta is suddenly gone, a few purple tufts and a pair of wide gray eyes left in her place.

the mini-mountain of fabric peeps:  "b-bernie thinks these are already the wi-winter uniforms. or, um, m-maybe i just didn't get one?"  either way, she's back on her way to the waking world. her arms gather as much of the cloak as they can to make sure it doesn't drag on the ground, and the brief rustling finally has the rest of her face popping back out. it's a brightly beaming face, too, even if her nose is tomato red and her knees are still clacking.

"thank you, professor lambert! wow, this sure is fluffy! bernie's feeling all snug as a bug,"  she sighs, almost too content to budge.  "this makes the perfect cocoon for me to just wiggle on away and take a nice nap... heh, heh! just kidding!"

maybe he's spoiling her. maybe just a little bit. if she's feeling cheeky enough to grin and jest, she'll be perfectly fine for the rest of his seminar.

[nelithic]

“There you are.” Lambert stood by a column, eyes focused on the form before him. Hair dark enough to reflect the abyss back into his gaze, and eyes of fire that seemed to be perpetually framed by an elusive look- but never distracted, it seemed. He knew who she was already, though only by name and appearance, nothing more.

One of his coworkers, and one of many abyssinians. Rumors about the lady hiding a dragon behind her blood had come and gone, but Lambert chose to not hold on to them too much. Regardless of her origins, she was an equal in his eyes. “Nel, is it?”

“I have wondered about you for a while, in the Abyss. You are a mysterious fellow, though I know a skilled fighter when I see one.” He offered her a bow. “Pleased to finally meet you. Though, if one day the chance comes across us, I would very much enjoy it if we could have a short spar. A mere friendly match."

SHE KNOWS THE GOLDEN-HAIRED MAN not by name or identity, but of the talk that in recent weeks has crept on padded feet through the damp halls of the abyss. there are whispers of a man returned from death, of forbidden magic and necromancy, and, further buried, something known as the tragedy of duscur that trades repetition on hushed tongues.

the fearful with their conspiracies have used their new arrival as compounding evidence that the fabric of fódlan's reality was tearing itself apart, evidence that the goddess was remaking this world or else would soon come down to smite it. given the sequence of events since her arrival here, and some stories she had heard of those prior, nel cannot entirely disprove them.

she had not intended ever to approach him directly, lest their work called for it — and between her missions and his more hands-on approach to the students' instruction, the opportunity had never arose. instead, he seeks now to create it himself.

pausing midstride with a pivot to acknowledge him, she allows his greeting and introduction to pass uninterrupted, expression unchanging, gaze unwavering. there is little indication of the grounds for his apparently erstwhile interest in her presence, nor what he made of what he had heard and thus where she placed in his mind behind the courteous words and the invitation to learn more. this she also knows: that returning from the dead is not so impossible a feat as others may believe.

"you must be lambert. there has been much word of you as well." a steady nod returns his bow. "i have heard of your efforts with the students of the abyss. you work tirelessly to instruct them."

"at your next demonstration of lances, you may see me as your assistant. your riding classes, however, i am afraid i must decline."

[txmehunting]

"Boy, you look like you are about to pass out...while I would usually advise you to calm down or rest, I cannot trust that you will do as I say and therefore must take you somewhere calm, preferably the nurse's office. Do not resist." And there he goes, wrapping Senno in a blanket. Senitto.

haha... yes... sennō's power is returning, bit by bit... as he sits in this random corner of the ballroom, plotting the demise of many an adversary, why, he even thinks he's starting to shake less! ahh, his little happy place is this dim, untouched corner of the massive hall where nobody is coming to bother him ( except for that little waiter child ). nothing could go w

SOMEONE IS PICKING HIM UP SOMEONE IS RESTRAINING HIM SOMEONE IS MOVING HIM FROM HIS HABITAT! HIS BABITAT!!!! HIS HATIBAB!!!!!!!!! BABBF!i!h!ihIFH!!ESTHL3949!)(@)!!(#@

"WHAT?! WHATTTTTTT?!?!" sennō suddenly thunders, shakes becoming great landshatter quakes and face burning more crimson than his eyepaint. "WHO! WHO IS TOUCHING MEEEEEEE??!??!?!?! PUT ME DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN!!!!!!! PUUUUUUUUUUT MEEEEEEEEEEEE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

wait! he's a student! he's a student! they should care about students' wellbeings, right?!?! "HEEEEEEEEEEEELP!!!!!! I'M BEING KIDNAAAAAAAAAAAAPPED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SOMEONE IS TAKING ME FOR NEFARIOUS PURPOSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

[quartzhearted]

[ Makeup Parlor ] [ sephora parent edition ]

"Alright, like the kids these days say...get those eyebrows on felek on something." He's a bit drunk, but determined. What he'll do though is left to the Goddess to decide.

"You're not escaping until I'm done."

"eh? the eyebrows on what? hey, be ca--!"

morion is nice and refreshed, with a bruise-free cheek and some more snacks in him. he's decided to stick to surveillance for the night so he doesn't miss out on any trickery he's supposed to put a stop to.

but everybody knows there can't be normalcy here, right?

suddenly he's accosted by lambert once again, but this time the guy seems a bit loopy. he must have had a bit more to drink than morion's seen. that's fine; dragons know morion does it often enough.

he does not, however, expect lambert to drag his arse down to a makeup parlor and essentially trap him in there. what?

now he's here. morion certainly prides himself on appearance and makes sure his beard is well-trimmed, but he's not sure what lambert is referring to here. is he going to shave his eyebrows off? is that what a felek is?

"uh... go easy on me?"

[blaiddllodi]

[ water ]

“Kid, are you okay? Like genuinely so?” Lambert had met this boy exactly…maybe four? Five times? In nearly all of those he seemed to have this haunted look behind his eyes which always left the professor wondering what could’ve caused it. Seeing him from afar he seemed fine, a friendly prince with an easy smile. But as soon as he got a closer look…

…well, now the kid looked like he had just seen a ghost in full resolution, and Lambert worried that he might pass out on the spot. Something about that look in his eyes made his heart break a little bit, though he wasn’t sure why. 

Maybe he had an idea why.

But it sounded ridiculous to his own mind.

“Drink some water and rest for a moment, will you? You look horribly pale, boy.” The party had just started too, did he manage to get plastered in record time somehow without Lambert noticing?! "I shall stay here until you look like you are not going to drop dead. Just rest."

Dimitri had come to recognize the voice when it spoke, not through any will of his own or any attempt at recognition, but because there was a section in his mind which had already seemed reserved for the sound, the rumbling timbre scratching a particular itch that he hadn't even been aware of until he heard it and felt the breath come out of him.

When he turned to greet the professor of Abyss, it was with a smile on his face, but the smile stuttered and flickered from his face for a moment -

"Mitya, drink some water, rest for a moment - you look - "

"Horribly pale, boy."

"A-ah?" He cleared his throat, fingers closing around the glass of water on instinct. "Do I? Perhaps I have been sleeping poorly..." He did not think that it had been much more poorly than any other night, but if this stranger came to him with such concern, he would not brush it aside so carelessly.

He forced the smile back onto his face, turning subconsciously to the warm glow of lights from the ballroom and taking a gentle drink of the proffered water. "I'm quite well, though, I assure you! It is a lovely night, and I would be loath to miss it!"

It was a lot of pomp and display, if he were being truthful, but there's no reason for him to extend this burden for this professor to shoulder - what need have he to bear it in the first place? It was for Faerghus, in the end, and so it was Dimitri's alone.

"You are too kind. Please, if you've other guests to attend to, I'm not so frail that I'm defeated by such an event as this."