#knighteclipsed

[princessmacedon]

[ Sweet Bun Trio ] - A selection of traditional Faerghus pastries, all small enough to be eaten in one delicious bite! The first bun is filled with sweet cream and topped with icing and a candied cherry. The second is a sweet roll filled with almonds, pecans, and dried cranberries and glazed with honey. The third is a bun sliced in half, filled with almond paste and whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar on top.

Vaguely, the idea had come to mind after some time spent at the ball—that around that time last year, Maria had found her way to him, primarily as the consequence of a brawl he’d found himself in.

There was no brawl this time (unless one wished to call his encounter with Michalis to be that sort of thing), but inspired by the threats of a certain redhead, the Moonstone drifted to the refreshments, then into the crowd, then to the side of one familiar in the mix of countless unknowns. Free hand takes a feather and places it in her hair such that it would mirror the one given to her brother (though perhaps more seen), and then, rather announcing himself—

“ Hello there, Maria. ” (An eye looks for Michalis before casting itself at the shorter girl.) His other hand (the one holding the platter) then emerges from behind his back, giving all three of the pastries to his target. With a smile typical of his expressions, he elaborates:

“ These are for you. ”

(pretend i detailed the buns it's presently an unreasonable hour for me haha)

Eventually even Maria relinquished her brother's cloak, sorely though she has missed him, with the hope that in spite of all the ways he has forgone his own happiness, he might find someone with the patience for all his thorns -- someone he can call a friend. Such bright hope and overwhelming trust would then, of course, never think to doubt the appearance of Sir Valter at her table.

For he is her friend, is he not? ...ah, well, perhaps not quite, but near enough to it from what she understands of his terms that she is happy nonetheless.

"Hello, Sir Valter!" A typical smile meets and makes an entirely expected grin, the weight of the little princess' full attention drawn to him with little more than a curious forward-lean. He has always been good to her, but she has never known him to be overly nor overtly generous. And with such a smile... that is a mischief-making smile if ever she's seen one.

That is, if she's reading him rightly. The want to understand is there at least, if not the ability. Soft fingertips touch the edge of the plate in even intervals, marveling at the gift of sweet buns (they always look so tasty!), and he has always been good to her.

"Mm... yummy!" Having taken a bite, she obscures her mouth with a delicate hand, the other setting the bun back on the tray. Following a moment's pause to chew and swallow, Maria turns her rosy-hued gaze back to Valter with the glittering, unspoken question of just what mischief she'd partaken in.

"Do you want some?" But she doesn't demand to know what it is -- doesn't foist any culpability on him, either, only turning the nearby bowl ever so slightly with the tip of a finger. "Oh! Or... do you even like sweets? I have pomegranate and mint candies too, if that's better." Maybe he was stingy with his answers, just like her favorite mockingbird? Her eyes squeeze shut in a fond little laugh. "Either way, thank y... huh?"

Crimson tresses sway with each shift of her head, a motion she is well familiar with, but in it there is something new. Maria blinks once, blinks twice, then raises a bun-sticky hand, brushing it with the back of her knuckle so as not to sully it. The familiar texture--

"Ah! You got me?" A peal of quiet giggles, falling like rain as she wrings her hands in her napkin, busying herself with fetching her own brooch and quite content to let Valter's lay where he'd left it. "Here, you can have mine, too!"

[fluxrspar]

stones chipped and walls shattered

a drabble: following the events of Epiphany. word count: 1209 words

She had fallen unconscious in the battle to reclaim Garreg Mach.

…or, maybe she had died? (She doesn’t quite recall.) The mages they fought had made their final stand, both sides succumbing in one final clash—and then what? (Blackness.)

Either way, Selena was awake now.

Stumbling her way back to Garreg Mach after awaking in a nearby town—she had thanked her caretaker endlessly, but truly, she needed to go—with her heart set on making certain of just one thing.

(She could only hope it was still there. It was her mistake to have left without it.)

The monastery is emptier without all of its people, she thinks; the first thought, even, after laying eyes on the place again proper. The collection of buildings felt like a hollow shell of what once was, crumbled ruins still being put back together in hope. (Such was the consequence of warfare, so the Fluorspar had known, but it was haunting, after all this time, to truly come face-to-face with it again.) It only tightens the knot in her stomach. Please let it still be there.

(And not found and looted by bandits, or by the monastery’s intruders, or whoever else could’ve come across it.) The path is broken, stones chipped and walls shattered in the battles the land had suffered—but the path is still there, and she knows the way to her office. Though the clicking of her heels does not echo as cleanly, there is still a road beneath them for her to walk.

She rounds the corner to her office, seeming to be one of the less damaged parts of the building. The door is ajar in a way she never would’ve left it, and the room itself is a total mess once she finally makes her way in—and then there is the thick layer of dust that had settled on it all. Perfectly undisturbed, so she would dare to hope; perhaps it was still there. (From a glance, she can tell: some of her supplies would need to be replaced; others simply repaired; the desk is still together.)

Which, for some reason, stops her in her tracks. (She doesn’t even know why, knowing it was a weathered constant in a maelstrom of change; her heart is still pounding.) If it was still together–

Slowly, carefully, she approaches the old wood, rounding to the other side and clutching the handle of one of the drawers. It takes a bit of force to open (and even more will to even start), but it comes loose from its month-long rest, and Selena ventures to take a peek inside.

(It isn’t there.)

In truth, Selena had expected to feel more at the realization—that her fluorspar, left behind so carelessly– Just a month ago, she had stepped outside, assuming it would be safe until she returned to her office; a month ago, she hadn’t known they would be attacked; that a month would pass.

She feels numb. Worse than the dull ache of battles hard-fought still lingering, she feels numb. (Perhaps she really has forsaken her title.) She closes the drawer, and she takes a seat.

It’s gone. (Likely for forever now.) It’s gone and she had left it and it was gone. (His Majesty’s truth and love gone with it; she really has forsaken her purpose.)

She sits there in silent contemplation—gone forever. (She had tried to build something new in Fódlan, yes, but she sours at the feeling that the most tangible part of her history was gone forever.) It’s sickening; nauseating, almost; terribly dreadful to understate—

There is a hollow knock at the door.

Selena doesn’t look up, instead allowing her head to sit upon the top of her desk as she wallows. She doesn’t care that the door was still open anyway and whoever was in the hallway could see her in all her misery; so what if she was human? The whole lot of them were. (There is silence.)

Then footsteps approaching, wordless, but Selena does not have the might to face them. A light shadow casts itself, but that is all—a slow whistle, and then:

“ That’s pathetic of you. ”

Her head snaps up—because there is only one person that could be, but so soon? Already? (She had only just arrived, and already Valter was making a nuisance of himself; at a time where she felt so low–)

“ You know, I might’ve had some respect for you not dying out there, ” and it is said as lightly as if he were discussing the weather, “ but this reminds me why I never did. ”

“You never change.”

Selena doesn’t think before she speaks, but it is the truth, she realizes. Here she was, in shambles, mourning the death of a self that could never be again; weighed down by all that she had lost; still thinking she is wont to violence– (Because Sea Fire was all-consuming–)

And here stood the Moonstone, as though the monastery had never been attacked. (As though it had never fallen.) Selena clenches her jaw.

“ Is that a bad thing? ” he replies slyly, another slow whistle following as he twirls a finger through his hair. “ Better to never change than to fall like a pile of pebbles at the slightest inconvenience. ”

“Get out of my office.”

He raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused by her response—a hum. “ I’ll pass. ”

You never change. Always so aggravating, out to get under her skin—and at present, she would rather feel numb than suffer the boiling of her blood at the sight of him: nonchalant, as though nothing had changed, as though they were still in Grado–

(Ah.) Now that was a bizarre thought to occur.

Not in the comment of his constancy, but when Selena thinks of home—her first one, her forever one, if she ever had the chance to return (if her blood was not forsaken with her gemstone)—she cannot help but think of the war; she cannot help but think of what changed.

And the appalling thought is that Selena had died a traitor to her ideals; but so far as she had known, following his reinstatement, Valter had never truly betrayed the crown. (The new Vigarde had never once scorned him; he had never questioned his loyalty and obedience.)

That sickening feeling tastes like vomit.

And she hates that she’s staring, the horror of it all cracking through the ice of her features; and Valter, as though he could read her mind, cracks a wry smile of his own in return.

She looks away, and her voice is hardly over a mumble. “Just leave…”

He doesn’t respond, only that Selena can feel his eyes watching her. Then, after sufficient pause, there is a hum of satisfaction—and he finally leaves. (She should close the door and lock it, the knight thinks to herself, but knowing the state of the monastery’s infrastructure, she wouldn’t be surprised if the lock was in too terrible of a condition to continue functioning.) Instead, she sits at her desk, and she stares at the ceiling, and she thinks.

(About war and violence; peace and stillness; what it means to bend until you break; what it means to be the Emperor’s shield, not his sword.)

She truly does hate Valter. That’s all she can decide.

[magisolsmiles]

⭐️ (i hope he rolls maximum stress for this)

Now this was a sight to behold.

This place—this ‘monastery,’ so Valter has learned it is called—had initially presented itself as host to a strangely large number of children; shortly after, hunter found that it had the cowardly knight; and now? If his eyes do not deceive him, it appears a child—perhaps even younger than Valter himself—was attempting some sort of magic. (Does this place have no rules to protect the weak? If they wanted culled numbers, they should’ve asked!)

He draws up in silence, watching the redhead at work. (Typical magical apparatuses; nothing too peculiar.) Yellow eyes flicker up then; a tap on the shoulder to call attention.

“ This stuff is dangerous, you know. ” (And perhaps that glimmer cannot be controlled yet.) “ Whatever it is you’re doing, you ought to leave it to the grown-ups; lest you maim yourself—or die.”

// i find it funny that valter is short now but still taller than ewan

Stress level: 6 (tragic lol)

Unbelievable, but he shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe his karma really was bad as somehow the worst, most annoying person ever managed to still be frustrating even as a child!!

Why? Well, in most cases now if someone addressed Ewan he was to look down. This was normally an exceedingly rare experience for the mage, but with everyone turned into children this was his once chance to feel tall!

But in Valter’s case….

HE WAS SOMEHOW STILL TALLER?!?!?!

That’s just not right! Why is Ewan shorter than a 10 year old?!?! AND WHY SPECIFICALLY VALTER?! What do they feed people in crazy freak school, super beans?!?!?!

So, when the (freakishly tall) child Valter tapped him on the shoulder, it took all of Ewan’s mental strength not to deck him in the face. (That would just hurt your hand more than him.) He tried to keep in mind.

His words were morbid, but maybe he wasn’t quite yet the murderous creep he was in his adult years. So Ewan tried to keep up at least a modicum of decency. “Don’t worry, I’m an experienced mage. I know what I’m doing!” He spoke through gritted teeth. “And it’s not like there are any adults right now, that’s the problem….” He muttered softly.

“So, why don’t you go and play with… whatever it is you like.” Please don’t be dead animals, please don’t be dead animals…. “And Leave me to my work, hmm?”

[viridescent-lance]

a kiss on the brow

He doesn’t announce his intention as he approaches, nor does he say anything when he withdraws, steps away—only so long does Valter linger to read Forsyth’s expression in turn.

And then, he leaves.

It's a close (if not small) race to be Forsyth's least favorite coworker, but Valter truly vies for the spot with increasing fervor. Here he comes now, walking straight toward Forsyth with that unnerving grin of his.

"What do you--" Before Forsyth can finish his sentence, Valter's lips meet his brow, forcibly smoothing the wrinkles that tighten in confusion. "--want...?"

What? What? This has to be some kind of sick joke. Not even that damnable monk went this far!

Before Forsyth can think of what to say in return, Valter turns and walks away. A baffling, infuriating man. He wants to stalk after him, to demand an explanation, but that would be playing right into his game. Best to be the bigger man.

(Though, the bigger man probably wouldn't have conveniently misplaced some of Valter's paperwork, leaving it to be redone.)

[amitieos]

jumpscare ♡

Albertus von Crimea Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way

(just kidding, ends up taking his mother's name because Valter's is top secret even to his family + the whole royalty thing. refuses to give his full name in most situations however, just to cultivate an air of mystery!)

class: pegasus knight -> wyvern knight -> malig knight (lance/sword + dark magic)

whilst a ruthless warrior, he lacks some of valter's more unhinged and bloodthirsty personality traits. he also lacks elincia's warmth and frankly thinks both of his parents are weirdos

cold and aloof to most people, with maybe the exception of his younger siblings (tbd!). my boy just is not a people person, even when he tries.

is actually very warm and gentle and sweet with animals though! especially ones that other people consider scary or ugly

kiddo definitely has brought home a few medieval fantasy king cobras before...

has no interest in being a prince or inheriting the throne and intends to run off and join a band of mercs once he's of age and finds one good enough for him

ends up not having to run off after all! elincia is uh... concerned about the whole merc thing but ultimately his family appreciate him as he is. in their own way.

is absolutely terrible at healing magic. tried to learn it from his mother because it's useful but will probably cause you to lose health if he heals you

as a result he always carries a first aid kick. slap a bandaid on it and walk it off.

took piano lessons as part of his noble upbringing and whilst he stopped lessons he never stopped playing in secret. don't mention it though or he may have to kill you

terrified of kittens because why are they so SMALL (what if he hurts them!)

[berglietz]

It is now that Valter realizes just how many people he has met.

Perhaps the number feels unimpressive given the context that Fódlan is not Magvel (even if still, said number is much larger than he is willing to count), but at this time last year, he had not known so many faces—especially of the student body of the Officers Academy.

He’s certain that is what the boy is—he seemed the right age for it, and no doubt: that was the uniform of the Academy. Vaguely, Valter remembers being asked for a spar; of the rest of the day, however, it all remains a blur.

(There is an image in his mind that says he would rather it stay forgotten.)

“ Child. ” It is his greeting, given that he’s forgotten his name (or perhaps he never learned it—nonetheless). One elbow rests on the other’s head, primarily as a way of cementing the difference in height. “ You recall, I’m certain, once asking me for a spar, yes? ”

In the fingers of his other hand, he holds a black feather, and lifting it into the air above them, he continues:

“ If you can take this feather from me, I’ll fight you. ”

Oh, great. It's this guy. Caspar's already scowling, and then the bastard has the gall to use his head as armrest…! He does remember asking for a spar. He'd been called a child then, too—spoken to like he'd inevitably lose. His blood starts to boil. "My name is Caspar, and I'm not a child." That stupid black feather dangles above his head, as if Caspar were an animal to be toyed with. Well, he's not an animal. He's a human being! With a pretty good standing jump! He leaps upward, arm outstretched to grab the feather… …And falls just a centimeter or so too short. "Ugh…! Why do I need the stupid feather to get started?" He growls, "If we start a fight right here, I could grab it out of your hand, no problem!!"

[justicefanged]

if you can put this in your mouth without breaking it i might be impressed🥚

Not unlike the time Linus had approached Valter with the challenge of an onion, the man -- still looking as gutter-lingering as before -- was coming at him with his own challenge.

Ha! As if something so simple would make Linus back down! Tch, "might be impressed" -- oh, he was going to be sooooOoOoOooo impressed! Not that...Linus gave a shit what Valter thought. This was purely about winning, and getting to shove it in the guy's weird face!

Linus swiped the egg with little preamble, confidence written into the smirk on his face. "Like this is the biggest thing I ever had in my mouth," he barks out, flipping Valter the bird with his free hand before popping the egg into his mouth. And, at first, everything seemed fine and dandy! But somewhere between trying to shift the egg around with his tongue and secure it with his teeth, there was a pretty damning crunch.

Hm...slimy.

But Saints be damned if he was going to spit this out in front of Valter's triumphant skeeziness.

So, with a very, very tight expression on his face, Linus chewed.

CRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCH

And then swallowed the whole mess down with a quick and fiery, "Fuck you!" before turning on his heel to stomp away.

[justicespeared]

❤️

"Hmm, I dunno, you seem a little bloodthirsty. But I do like your lancework. Ooh, this is a toughie." She circles around him, then stops. "Hm. Nah. But I do wanna learn from you!"

[nagaficat]

♡

if deirdre gives the child a jul- name it better be a good one. or valter will not be calling them that they're gonna be called the name of some god of war or smth instead.

My first primal thought was name him Juul but I cannot name a child after a vape so he's going to be just Jul.

This kid is Trouble. He has the soft, gentle, innocent features of his mother but do not let his looks fool you. Personality wise he takes much more after his father sorry to the world. He is so spoiled with a mom who feels too bad telling him no and pair that with Valter's general Valterness and well just do that math.

He gets away with so much because he will do the Puss in Boots begging face and you just have to question why you were ever upset with him. He knows how to use his sweet face to his advantage and has been doing it ever since he could talk.

He shares his father's hair and eye color but otherwise you take one look at him and he is a Deirdre clone. His hair leans more curly than wavy and he wears it cut short but still slightly long enough that the curl is still clearly featured. He thinks this adds to his air of innocence (it does).

Inherits his mother's major Naga blood and has incredible natural talent with staves especially. He is so so good at healing but he is not doing it out of the goodness of his heart you owe him a favor if he decides to help you out.

[solarsbrace]

“ Find someone to get this to Prince Ephraim—do not deliver it yourself, and do not share who it is from. ” He’ll figure it out for himself soon enough anyway.

Valter wasn’t entirely certain of that, but that didn’t really matter much to him. If Ephraim knew he was sending a gift, then that proved something of the boy’s intellect. If he didn’t– well, all the better.

He doesn’t give the monk much time to be confused, wordlessly leaving then, slipping into darkness. Still, they accomplish the task—it is passed along to an armorer in the training grounds, and when the solar prince next enters, an envelope is passed into his hands.

“A monk dropped by earlier and said to give this to you. Didn’t say why though—it’s not my business anyway.” The note delivered, the armorer steps back to their work, making sure all the weapons are still good for use.

The envelope is unmarked but neatly pressed, although sealed tighter than most. Should the prince choose to open it, a note resides within, written in a decently fine hand and unaccompanied by anything else.

Enjoy your birthday, prince. Don’t forget to think of your father.

letters were not usually delivered to him, much less from anonymous monks of the monastery. even still, the king thankfully accepted the letter from the armorer and went about his own business. he tucked the letter in his pocket, thinking to look into it at a later time. he'd nearly forgotten about it until he fell out of his pocket unceremoniously on the floor. now that he was at his dorm, and alone for the night, he decided he could finally sate his curiosity.

opening the letter, he would find a wide page inside with only a few words sprawled neatly across some of it's surface. immediately the words left him bitter, squeezing the paper tightly in his hands. a personal message, a threat, and a promise all in one simple statement. he placed the paper down at last, turning away from it like it might blind him. despite his immense struggle, thoughts of his father came to flood his mind as he wished they wouldn't.

moments of joy, moments of anger, moments of sadness, all meshed together in his minds eye. he remembers happier days with his mother and father reading him bedtime stories. he remembers the squabbles he had with his father, denouncing everything fado had stood for. he remembers their last conversation together, and how it had been anything but pleasant he remembers not getting to say goodbye. quickly he wipes the wet beneath his eyes, trying to hide the tears from even himself.

he stiffened up at last, picking the paper back up to give it a closer examination. few of his countrymen called fodlan home, and even fewer who would leave such a rotten message for him. only one name came to mind, only one retched name he had hoped to think of again. Valter...

Ashamed of his emotions, he crumpled the paper up and threw it in the bin next to his feet. "happy birthday to me." he stated, angry he had let that man get to him.

@knighteclipsed

[far-from-common]

He hadn’t found her on the fields of Gronder two months prior, and though he’d idly thought to himself that he should track her down on some other occasion, without the context of combat, the prospect had lost its appeal; on the night of the Ethereal Ball, however? (Well, one could say most had their guards down, and Valter was always the type to spring on those opportunities.)

Such does he finally, finally catch sight of her—and indeed, the L’Arachel he had heard whispers of from the fallen Deer was the same as the princess from his home continent; and therefore, she was one who likely felt comfortable in the knowledge of his supposed demise.

Hah. (What an excellent night to find out the truth.)

He disappears into the crowd, weaving a path to the princess that carefully dances the edges of her peripheral—and it is only at the very end that he frees one of his pearls, clutching it in one hand, the other tapping on her shoulder as he smiles:

“ Excuse me, but are you interested in exchanging charms? ”

Parties like this are always quite the pleasant affair, but sometimes, one must put a pause to being the star of the show in order to let others have their place. It helps to rejuvenate one’s energy so they can shine even brighter afterwards!

Which is how L’Arachel finds herself simply standing around for a bit, a glass of water in her hand, as she observes the merriment around her. Things might not be as traditional as they usually are, but people still seem to be having a wonderful time, even despite the setbacks. It does put a smile on her face to see. Things may change, and hardships might be had, but time ultimately marches forward, and people persevere.

Her musings are cut short by a tap on her shoulder, surely from someone about to compliment how she looks whilst pondering things. A cheerful smile forming, she gracefully turns around.

And finds herself face to face with the antithesis of her thoughts. He had been slain, and time marched forward, and yet here he was, like they were still amidst the scorching Jehannan heat.

She keeps her smile the same as it was as she looks him up and down; He shall not have an ounce of her true thoughts laid plain on her face.

“Excuse me, but are you interested in exchanging charms?”Such a trivially mundane request. It’s topped off with a smile that seems to be more at her rather than with her. Still, if that is all he wants, she shall oblige his game.

“Why of course, that is one of the things we have all set out to do this night, after all.” She takes the pearl off of him as if she were trading with any other person, and places a turtle charm in its stead. “I hope this turtle serves you well! Now, if you shall excuse me, I need to refill my drink.” She points to her nearly empty glass of water, and with a graceful bow, turns around to move away from him.

Valter’s return itself is not troubling. She fears not the man. He had been defeated before, and she is confident there is no way in which he would be able to strike at her during this party and get away with it.

The possibility of other foes making their return, however, does provide more to think about, however. Still, as long as it is on this land, surely there is nothing to fear. With the amount of heroes and fighters and otherwise skilled combatants here, the Demon King’s potential return would surely be short lived.

…right?

Ugh, utterly ridiculous. She straightens out her body as she walks and rolls her eyes at this preposterous thought. This sort of doubt is exactly what Valter expects to achieve, and she shall not be one to play into his hands!

That is assuming that Valter was being malicious here. That is her main assumption, but ‘got brought back from death without his memories’ is a far-out theory that is not completely off the table. Still, she is done pondering this for now. If he wants to occupy her thoughts, she shall just enjoy the ball even more to spite him.

[princessmacedon]

He scarcely looked upon the bulletin board, save for finding out when the armory had new items, and still, he did not find out about the occasion from there. That said, she was a well-liked girl, — it wasn't uncommon to hear others speak fondly of her, — and it was by the latter method that Valter came to learn of Maria's birthday.

But that's not the focus here.

A hand taps her shoulder in passing, revealing to be a knight, — perhaps familiar, perhaps not, — extending out to her an open-top box containing a glass jar of herbs: a multitude of little flowers and a wild mop of leafage like unto carrots.

"Was told to give it to you." (They walk off.)

Beneath the jar, obscured by placement, would be a note card, a message written in by a fine hand:

I was once told they were good for fevers—also that you could use them in a compress. You could imagine my surprise to see them much closer to the monastery.

It has never been uncommon for Maria to find pause as she moves from place to place (how else was she supposed to find out that the benefit to being early was that when you were late, you were on time?). A busy bee was she, sometimes the stopper, sometimes the stoppee... sometimes halted by happenstance, by the birdsong or the rustling trees -- there was much to marvel at in this world, and many and more ways to catch and be caught by others.

Today more so than most other days; thus when a passerby taps her on the shoulder, she does not find it so strange. When she turns only to have a jar foisted into her hands and a message succinctly delivered ere they... ah, pass her by, it becomes a little more uncommon. Most surreptitious gift-givers tended to deliver their presents to her doorstep -- this, by comparison, certainly feels new! Almost as if she is the princess of a country in a way that matters, her power resting not with the fetters she becomes for others, but the secrets held in her hands!

How interesting it is, and fun! And her 'secrets' are rather pretty. Maria recognizes them at once, flipping the card in haste to confirm her suspicions. So they are confirmed, not with a name, but a knowing: undoubtedly, it is from Valter! Ares of that same day's company, she imagines, would be much more forthright... but then again, neither had she imagined Valter would give her a birthday gift. Maria giggles, and calls out:

"Thank you very much!"

(Perhaps he is listening, perhaps not.)

[fluxrspar]

if that could be.

a drabble: for selena’s birthday this year, preceding this. word count: 711 words

It was uneventful, all things considered—not that Selena was surprised to realize that. Though a big deal could be made out of birthdays, they did not erase the necessity for work to be completed: tomorrow would come, and she would deal with the consequences of today. As such, she was in her office as per usual, tending to her assignments–

A knock at the door. She would much rather open it herself, but in the interest of maintaining her workflow: “Come in.”

The door opens, and there is a shift in the air—even before she looks, the Fluorspar recognizes who it is. A ghost of a man:

Valter.

Eyes move up to meet his; moons sparkle as he says: “ Did you miss me? ”

Of course it’s him. (‘Of course’?) Actually, it would make infinitely more sense for him to be anywhere else: Magvel, causing more havoc; some other continent, doing the same. Selena can hardly believe the king of Renais chose to study here with this man around—then again, perhaps Ephraim didn’t care. Clearly, he and his allies must’ve beaten the Moonstone before.

“What are you doing here?” (And she stands, not allowing herself to be looked down upon.)

“ Is it a crime to wish a colleague of mine a happy birthday? I thought we were friends, you know. ” (He smiles, and it sickens her.)

“You think to call us ‘friends’?” No, stop. Don’t indulge him. (It’s a difficult thought to heed; to think, after everything that he’s done—to her, to her friends, to Grado.) Eyes narrow:

“Get out.”

“ So soon? I haven’t even given you your gift yet. ”

And before she can respond, he glides over to her; grabs her wrist and presses something into her hand. A box, she can tell—finely wrapped and ribboned.

“ Happy birthday, Selena, ” the Moonstone smiles, and then: he is gone.

Just as quickly as he came. She couldn’t even claim to be surprised. That was always his method—to appear suddenly and without warning, stir up some mayhem, and then leave; free of consequence. Selena supposes that if there was one thing constant, there is him. Unfortunately.

Still, his gift in her hand, however much it irked her to receive it. He hadn’t given her anything two years ago, back during the war—she didn’t expect anything good from him now either. Stepping to the door again, she confirms that he is gone.

Shaken to disturb but not to break, she hears nothing, but she can feel the weight of its contents. Cushioned likely, she imagines, though it may also be filled with something… unsightly. (Like insects or spiders.) There was also the chance that some magic had been cast upon it, but that possibility was too unpleasant to imagine.

Or perhaps this is just one of his mind games, and it is completely innocuous after all. (She opens the box.)

It was packed, the box filled with fabric to keep whatever was within hidden—(it was almost as though he meant to torture her with the effort needed to open it). Removing the top layer though, at last, the present is revealed—and for a moment, she does not breathe.

A fluorspar, she knows instantly, except that it is artistically shattered.

It is subconsciously that her hand glides to her side, before Selena remembers it is no longer kept there. (She could not bear to be asked about it—to explain her past and all that she’d done.) She does not remember walking behind her desk, opening the drawer with too much force: it’s still there. (Intact.) Just as she had left it.

She should've noticed they were different anyhow—the broken fluorspar was duller, the hue just slightly bluer than hers. It was a fluorspar no less, and yet—it was different in soul, in spirit, in value. Perhaps that was intentional; Selena couldn’t claim to know that man’s thoughts anyway.

The dark thought comes that she shouldn’t have worried anyhow—after all, it was not as though she deserved the title anymore. She was forced to choose between her lord and her oath, and she had chosen incorrectly (she had no choice, really). She was the Fluorspar no more—just Selena, if that could be.

The drawer is closed—gently, this time—and his gift is tossed artistically into the trash.

[magisolsmiles]

☆ lol

“You look perfectly flammable to me, wanna test it out? I’ll make sure there’s nothing but cinders left of you. I’m sure with your unique personality absolutely nobody will miss you. ❤️”

[viridescent-lance]

🍪 (i'm so sorry but it's hilarious i think)

(feel free to ignore though dsjgnsfjkgnd)

Forsyth is not one to back down from a challenge. The Pocky Game is an entirely inconsequential, minor challenge, and a paramount rule of the game is that you can deny requests with no blowback. Forsyth respects this wholeheartedly.

But even when Valter comes up to him with a biscuit stick in tow, unnerving smile plastered on his lips, Forsyth does not consider the option to vacate. He is a man of honor, and a man who will not back down.

Even from...this.

"I accept your challenge, Sir Valter!" Forsyth takes a deep breath, swallowing as he watches the other man's facial journey. Is Valter doing this just to vex him? Does he find it fun? Forsyth does not wish to give him the satisfaction, and hopes he has stonewalled his face well enough.

Their eyes meet as the distance grows shorter, neither man willing to give up. Forsyth feels regret building in his stomach, but he must wash it down with stubborn resolve. If he goes fast enough, if he's aggressive enough, than maybe--

-CLACK-

Oh, he could just knock his teeth and nose against Valter's. That's an option. The tiny remaining piece of pocky falls to the floor, and Valter looks...too satisfied, for what's occurred. Perhaps it's because of the blood Forsyth tastes in his mouth--he's not sure whose it is, but.

Is there protocol for when a game ends like this? Forsyth really would like to end this interaction, but he's concerned that a rule has been broken. Who would even count as being at fault here, though?

Quickly, he drops to the ground, disregarding his penchant for cleanliness and consuming the last crumb. There. That must count as victory, right?

Yet, it feels less so like that the way Valter's reacted to him...truly, there is no winning with this man, except in morality.

[ephemeralove]

Maria is right – her textbooks are indeed required, and due to the nature of their swapping forms, she did not possess them at the moment. (Valter did not possess them at the moment.)

“If you open your textbook to page 297…,” Professor Selena begins, and that is his cue. (Plans had been made, and Valter would act the part accordingly.)

He first goes through Maria’s things, both to verify the absence of the textbooks and to lend credibility to his next ploy – “Ah, it’s not…” (A pause to further assert the notion.)

Sitting upright, he turns to face Katarina, the same girl who followed the knight out into the blizzard just a few moons ago. He hadn’t known for certain when he first sat next to her, but it seemed the natural place to sit, and it was a familiar face to him – which made any necessary trickery all the easier. Time revealed that the little thing was Maria’s backup.

“Um, Miss Katarina?” the cleric’s voice begins sheepishly, “It seems I forgot my textbooks today – do you mind if sharing yours with me?” (Valter believes it to be the right balance of quiet politeness and wise assertion to feasibly pass – in truth, however, it relied on Katarina and her senses.)

“She’s nice but really shy, so I don’t think she’ll ask why I forgot it.”

(It was Valter’s hope that Maria was right – he only had so much information to lie with.)

If Katarina was a wallflower, then the youngest princess of Macedon was the hummingbird that from time to time flittered energetic wings in her direction. She did not always take a seat beside Katarina, but it was a choice she seemed to gladly make on occasion.

Today is one such day, though her sunny greeting -- one Katarina had been preparing to meet for some minutes now -- goes seemingly forgotten, lost in the burgeoning crease of her brow. She shuffles; she shifts; she falls silent. Something odd sits in the girl's demeanor, distant, or perhaps perplexed. The tactician lightly flexes her knuckles, the mere thought of words heavy on her tongue, pinning it to her teeth.

Suddenly, fulgent spring peers directly into dreary gray.

"Ah..." Caught in her waiting, Katarina slides a palm over her knuckles. Thankfully, the young princess seems not to care, more so concerned with her imposition. A manner that puts others well at ease... if only Katarina could learn it. As she is now, she is still so fearful of being burned.

But gentle, and gentler still, she understands her to be. Katarina's lips lay parted a beat overlong, an awkward thing, bent slowly but surely into an answering smile, by every measure the girl's match in sheepishness.

"...Yes, of course. Here..."