unslake

[unslake]

June 2025 Activity Check

Status: Passed!

Skill Points Earned:

Any +1 (Monthly Activity)

Total Points: 5 -> 6!

Points Allocation:

Reason C to C+ (1/2) -> Reason C+

Classes Accessed:

N/A.

New Items/Weapons:

N/A.

[unslake]

Arvis hums, thoughtful—perhaps appreciative, or perhaps merely an observer of the other's remarks. The words make little to no impression upon him, and he allows them to linger in his mind for a fleeting moment, like the shadows of swirling leaves, before his attention turns elsewhere.

To the endless waters, dark, impenetrable, and insouciant toward the glittering lanterns—those frivolous things of human desires, unable to illuminate the depths with more than just innate selfishness. Is he himself any different? Of course.

Unlike those who wrote their wishes into the lanterns, he has seized his dream. He has enacted his wish, made real the beginnings of something once thought impossible.

Why waste the time to write it down, when one can simply will it into being?

“Something small...” Arvis echoes, delayed by apparent rumination. The inscrutable smile on his face shifts along with the moving shadows, their movement softening the edges of his face. “If I may ask, what is it that you pray for?”

dream unspoken

⤷  ethereal ball 2025: continued from here

[unslake]

Arvis smiles mildly at the other's litany of questions, privately amused by her confusion and apparent unfamiliarity with the ridiculous, but often-mandatory niceties common among nobles. It's refreshing���pleasant, almost—to witness amidst the displays of wealth and influence surrounding them, and he finds himself more receptive to answering her questions than he expects.

Even if his answers are colored with a certain, mocking edge—toward their various, unintentional companions waiting in line, those clinging to gifts of inflated monetary value and nothing else, those eager to find leverage among their peers here—and nothing else.

“Gifts without function are not inevitably purposeless,” Arvis corrects gently, meeting her gaze briefly before his own redirects to the endless collection of gifts piling up. “Although, their purposes... are often quite limited.”

“At least, that is how it was in Grannvale, when I was younger.” He laughs lightly, but only once. It resembles more of a softer exhale, natural, one that is not at all enacted. “Although... I can't say I've ever gone to a party without knowing the honoree's name.”

He glances toward the woman again, and leans closer ever so slightly—as if to convey a secret. “It is Fauntleroy.”

lessons in gift-giving

    ⤿ karla and arvis, toa ball 2025. continued from here.

[unslake]

“You have not. Professor Celyn is presently occupied with personal matters, and I am filling in for today.” Arvis explains, his voice miraculously level and measured, despite the disdain festering inside him—growing inside him—the longer he looks at Seliph. That man's offspring. The color of his hair, his eyes. Even dead, even continents away, that man continues to taunt him. How is this fair? How is this just?

Arvis gestures toward the chair on the other side of the desk, in a smooth and perfect motion, welcoming, simulating expectation. “Please, sit.” In a mimicry of cordiality, he smiles warmly as he sits back down to rearrange the young man's records. In that moment, his attention shifts elsewhere, as if to say—it doesn't really matter to him if Seliph sits or not, if he stays or not. He shuffles the papers, smooths out the edges, puts away the ones belonging to the other students. Then, with his gaze lifting toward Seliph once more, as if surprised that the student is still standing at the doorway despite the brevity of time passed, Arvis lets his smile linger just a little longer.

“This meeting should be a relatively brief affair,” he says, unable to resist an mocking edge in his voice. Unless, his eyes gleam, you have other concerns to discuss. “Let us begin.”

Arvis does not pause, and makes a show of flipping to the first page of Seliph's records, internally recalling Professor Celyn's notes on the student's performance. Creasing the corner again, Arvis rotates the page toward Seliph and taps an accusatory finger at some indecipherable section. “Professor Celyn has been rather concerned with your... performance in these subjects, and believes you might benefit from further guidance.” His hand moves away from the page, then pushes it closer to the younger man.

The cold burning of his eyes itches to reveal itself, alight, as he lifts his gaze to meet Seliph's once more. Still, he deigns to keep the farce intact. “Is that of interest to you?”

i have nothing, i am at your mercy

    ⤿ seliph and arvis.

[unslake]

May 2025 Activity Check

Status: Passed!

Skill Points Earned:

Any +1 (Monthly Activity)

Total Points: 4 -> 5!

Points Allocation:

Reason C to C+ (0/2) -> Reason C to C+ (1/2)

Classes Accessed:

Dancer — Claimed.

New Items/Weapons:

Whisper of Ivy — Claimed.

Drafting Threads/Minis:

With Deirdre, Excavation

With Seliph

With Dimitri, Kris, and Sephiran, Excavation

With Andrei, Excavation

With Sothe, Ball Ask -> Mini

With Deidre, Ball Ask -> Mini

With Lucius, Ball Ask -> Mini

Pending Threads/Minis:

With Lachesis, Excavation

With Karla, Ball Ask -> Thread

With Lyn, Ball Ask -> Mini

If we have a ball ask that you’d like to continue, please let me know! Also, if we had something planned but I forgot, please reach out…!

[unslake]

[ FIREWORKS ] + [ CHAMPAGNE ]

Throughout the ball, there's been no shortage of powerful nobles. Monarchs of countries, Dukes and Margraves who followed behind them, and their spawns who attended Garreg Mach—Miklan saw no shortage of them them. Standing by the balcony with drink in hand, a nobleman cloaked in red caught his gaze. Maybe he was pondering that they both shared the same shade of red hair that dipped to their shoulders—or they both fashioned themselves in dark cloaks. Miklan wasn't sure if he could hate the man already. Fireworks boomed against the thunder, colouring the window in a spectacle of colours. Seeing an opportunity, Miklan moved closer—standing beside the man. If conversation or silence followed, he wanted an answer to the numbness in his gut.

ethereal ball, second half.

The Viscount is certainly not holding back in his efforts to redeem the guests’ experience of the ball, despite the seemingly unrelenting storm. The radiant show of light overhead is a captivating, masterful display of magic—one that Arvis cannot bring himself to fully enjoy. Despite the change of clothes that the Viscount’s servants had managed to find and the cloak, which has served grandly as a makeshift blanket for warmth, Arvis remains utterly miserable from the memory of his misfortunes.

Like an injured creature nursing its wounds, the once-proud Emperor had made it his utmost priority to find somewhere isolated from others, somewhere to simmer and sulk in his burning self-recrimination. Fate shows mercy—for once. Eventually, he finds a quiet corner of the covered balcony on the manor’s upper floor. On the way there, a keen-eyed attendant, perhaps out of pity, had stopped him to offer a glass of Adrestia’s finest champagne. Unlike his usual self, he had accepted, carrying it with him to the balcony.

At least, now, Arvis has his champagne—and his solitude. With the thunder, the booming explosions of the Viscount’s magic are even tolerable. As he lifts his glass to his lips, wishing for this temporary reprieve to stretch into forever, he senses someone approach.

Their shadow flickers on the floor in front of them both, taunting.

Arvis’ fingers tighten around the stem of his champagne glass, but he bites his tongue. He wants to ignore this unwelcome stranger, but he had made the mistake of turning his head ever so slightly—enough to almost make contact, and certainly enough to notice their similarities.

Red hair. Their dark manners of dress.

Unlike Arvis, with his utterly soaked hair and half-miserable expression, the stranger shows no obvious signs of the night’s misfortune.

A long silence, then—

“Shall we share a toast?” He says coldly. “To the Viscount’s magic.”

[unslake]

[ SWEPT AWAY ] + [ SLIP AND SLIDE ]

"Everyone, please, this way - ! Watch your step – ah, are you all right? No, please, continue on – yes, be careful."

Once he had made his way back along the rocky coast, mindful of the rising tide and the crashing waves that broke along the dark cliff faces both distant and near, Dimitri had seen the frantic thrum of those who remained, yet were still lost, swept up by the darkness and confusion of the storm and finding it difficult to cut through. It was easier for him, he thought ruefully, of a hardier constitution, used to worse storms than this, and having the benefit of an upbringing that others might have balked at.

The decision to plant himself in the thick of it, to direct those who milled uncertain, scared, was also easy - this was what he was for, if nothing else.

Hands pressed against passing backs, a warm reassurance that an end was in sight, that they need only press forward and endure a little longer until the manor would be in sight, warm and comfortable, and he squinted at the huddled dark shape shivering in the water. Dimitri bounded forward without a second thought, understanding that any odd thing could have been the very worst option – and found this to be true, tucking his hand beneath the armpit of the man who lay bedraggled in the surf and heaving him upright.

"Are you all right? Can you walk? Come, I will assist." He was slight but not frail, and more importantly he was breathing, although quite pale and wild-eyed. Dimitri attempted his kindest smile, eyes creased at the edges only through the lashing rain and wind.

"Almost there, sir – just a few more meters, you see - ?"

And they continued in that odd three-legged way for far more than a few meters until the sight of the manor came into view, tantalizingly warm – until his foot caught in a shallow flat of collected water, and he slipped, flailing to course correct and failing, the weight of his arms and his cape hooking about the man until they both went down, down, down along the avenue.

ethereal ball, second half.

This night has been utterly humiliating.

First, the undoubtedly induced gust of wind that had knocked him off his feet and into the ocean in a moment of contemplative weakness. Second, his inability to properly identify who had been responsible. And when the storm arrived, sudden and without warning, the cruel whims of fate seemingly decided that humiliation was not enough.

Now, in the water again, swept away by the churning waves, the great Emperor of Grannvale struggles rather uselessly. He manages to force himself closer to the shore, but the pull of the tides makes it a futile, exhausting effort—and before long, he finds himself almost tempted to simply lie there, if only for a brief moment, and curse the unending humiliations that fate has in store for him.

Before he can truly wallow in his own, pathetic misery—unwilling to confront the true danger of his situation, there's a loud splash of water nearby. Then again and again—as someone approaches him, perhaps confusing him (again, a humiliation) for someone in need of help. He tries to speak, although his voice is hoarse and quiet—a surprise to even himself, even as he shudders from the cold. The young man helps him up. He coughs, trying to nod—of course, he's all right. Of course, he can walk.

Arvis feels pathetic. Indebted, too, to his companion. The sight of the manor is a much-needed comfort, but the great forces truly are cruel tonight. He is given no time to rejoice, not even a spare moment. His savior—oh, how he loathes the word—slips. If it were only the other man's support that had suddenly disappeared, perhaps he would have managed to keep his balance. But the other's cape was fated to entangle with him.

What is one more humiliation, now, on top of so many others?

[unslake]

@scarletplain takes to his suggestion far more eagerly than Arvis expects her to, especially considering the reaction of the young man next to her. Her excitement is—surprisingly—refreshing instead of irritating, and Arvis finds himself inclined to be swept up in the imaginative play of guessing what the gifts could be.

"I am unfamiliar with Adrestian customs, myself. But... perhaps, many of the attendees are like us, and not acquainted enough with the recipient to gift garments." He wonders if she is from abroad like he is. After all, the Adrestian Empire is an influential force. Even those from outside its territory must have some more sense of their traditions, right? "I was told he is a student at the academy, so toy weapons and figurines might be unlikely..."

Gifting boxed food would be rather strange, but Arvis keeps this thought to himself. Unless the food items were staple items, things easier to store regardless of the temperature and their freshness. He ponders the stranger's questions, thinking of his own gift, then noticing her wrapped gift as she fiddles with her bracelet. Perhaps, they both brought books for the birthday boy.

"Thank you. Here." He accepts the anchor, then offers her a starfish from his bracelet. "A candle holder would be an interesting gift... Perhaps, it could be a rarity? Not all gifts are intended to have a functional purpose, after all."

lessons in gift-giving

    ⤿ karla and arvis, toa ball 2025. continued from here.

[unslake]

[ CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN ]  the arrival of a new black eagle professor is always a cause for excitement—an opportunity to improve, and more importantly, a chance to succeed. for that reason, she'd always thought it imperative to leave a dazzling first impression, if only to ensure she wasn't so easily forgotten. there is more she has to prove, after all. higher stakes at play.

but there is another reason dorothea seeks out the man. she'd seen deirdre with him, observing from a distance how close the two appeared to be. a morbid curiosity follows on the heels of a conversation they'd had not so very long ago—a heartfelt conversation about love and the lack thereof. and she recalls now the mention of one lord sigurd.

( what she does not recall is any announcements about a professor sigurd joining their house. )

"good evening, professor! seeing as i'll be attending your classes, i thought i'd introduce myself. i'm dorothea."

in hand, a small dish full of fresh fruit that she extends in offering. "if you haven't tried pairing them with the fountain's contents, i'd highly recommend that you give it a shot. the empire spares no expense when it comes to its chocolate production. it might just be the best you've ever tasted."

she smiles and leans forward.

"might i interest you in a trade, too? i couldn't help but notice that you seem awfully close to professor deirdre, and she's already got a full bracelet. it'd be a shame if you weren't able to match her in acquired charms."

ethereal ball, second half.

"Good evening, Dorothea. My name is Arvis." For a moment, Arvis studies the young woman's face, committing it to memory along with her name. As part of his onboarding duties, he had begun a cursory review of the available paperwork on the Black Eagles students. He does not immediately recall encountering her name, so it seems he has yet to get the chance to review her records. Mentally, he makes a note to do so once he returns home from the ball.

"I have yet to try it." His gaze lowers from her face toward the offered dish of fruit, then shifts toward the chocolate fountain not too far away from them. After a beat of hesitation, he accepts the dish in its entirety, rather than making an attempt to pick and hold onto one of the many pieces of fruit. "I appreciate the recommendation," he adds, although he does not move any closer to the fountain right away. He understands the recommendation and the offering are pretenses—as most offerings are. It's almost admirable—how Dorothea layers her true question beneath niceties and trivial matters—chocolate, the little game with the charms, the obliquely performed consideration of his awfully close relationship with Deirdre.

All to conceal a blatant curiosity. A prying interest, perhaps.

He smiles all the same.

"It would be a shame. I would be happy to trade." He sets the dish aside like an afterthought, reaching for his bracelet to spare a starfish to exchange for her charm. The game feels rather childish, but—well, Dorothea's statement does make him start to think otherwise. "Here."

[unslake]

Now that the Burrowhaven locals are aware that outsiders know of their Miracle, they're on a witch hunt to find who spilled the beans and those quiet individuals who keep to themselves have become the prime source for paranoia. You remember who it was that told you the truth about the worms, but the next time you enter Burrowhaven, your informant looks ready to run you through with a stake. They believe that if you testify, their neighbors will call them a traitor and drive them out. Burrowhaven has been their only home for so long that they have nowhere else to go. In a furious bid for their security, they decide you must be silenced at any cost. [Grants Lance +1]

By all accounts, the affairs of the once-secret village of Burrowhaven lie outside of Arvis' responsibilities. He has no real ties to the Golden Deer house, and it is by the Church's arrangement that only that house needs to be involved. Still, his interest had been piqued rather early on by passing chatter among the students. Something about a strange disdain for magic, something about a Miracle—

The path to Burrowhaven has become relatively well-worn, now—an undeniable reflection of the Golden Deer house's inimitable sense of duty. Even if no one else is in sight, at the moment. Arvis walks along it, cautious but not furtive. After all—while only the Golden Deer house was tasked to investigate Burrowhaven—none of the other houses were barred from doing the same. It is a pleasant enough walk. As Arvis descends further underground, the rocky earth beneath his feet is firm and stable. In the absence of others, he drifts into his thoughts and his doubts—the myriad peculiarities that Garreg Mach Monastery has thrust upon him. Deirdre, here, older, different. Seliph, her son. And even others—that man's comrades—who should not have survived...

A loud shout from up ahead, behind a bend in the path. Arvis stops to listen—

"You!" A shrill, rage-laced voice, seething and devoid of any sense. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? Everything for the Church, right? I should've known. I shouldn't have trusted the likes of you—-"

Careful to silence his footsteps, Arvis moves closer, still concealed by the cliff bend. Hiding himself as best as he can manage, he cranes his neck to look for the source of the voice. Vaguely, he makes out two figures—the one still shouting half-coherently farther away, deeper along the path. Something glints in their hands. A weapon The other figure, @landslioness—looks somehow familiar, even from behind. Blonde, perhaps defensive, dressed in armor. It takes a moment to register, but the armor's clearly Agustrian design dissolves his reservations—

Arvis rushes forward. It might be a gamble, but what choices does the former Princess of Nordion have? Retaliate? Self-defense can hardly excuse single-handedly souring the Church's opportunities in Burrowhaven.

"Lady Lachesis," he calls out her title and name with unearned camaraderie and performed concern—without a trace of the truth. "I heard commotion." Are you all right? goes unasked, unnecessary to the performance he has staged. He seeks out her gaze for a brief moment, his own eyes devoid of warmth, devoid of malice—before his attention settles on the frenzied villager. As the villager halts in their approach forward, Arvis wonders if brute force will be inevitable. "What is the meaning of this?"

the ashes that fell yesterday

    ⤿ lachesis and arvis. excavation, lance +1.

[unslake]

This whole collect five to win! game is stupid.

...despite harboring that opinion, Sothe's already most of the way there — and as the night turns to its end, he'd rather not leave the task unfinished. Whatever. Call him an idiot for playing along, but searching for a starfish pinned to someone else's hip gives him a distraction from spiraling thoughts that he can't quite make sense of.

A thief's keen eyes pick one out, spotted amidst bracelets and beltrings. Now there is the other part, the worst part of this ridiculous game — the asking. The asking, and he's still half-drenched, and he's not sure if his hands have stopped shaking.

So he goes about it in the manner of a thief.

With a turtle unhooked from his own bracelet — the very nature of all this is transactional, in the end — he reaches to snag a charm frim the stranger. He makes it halfway through his task, snapping a turtle to the other's adornment, when he's caught.

Shit.

His hands are, in fact, still trembling ever-so-slightly. If this was still a game of survival for him, it'd be over. He drops his hands from the other's trinkets, raising them both — they quiver, and a visible lightning scar snakes over one.

"I gave you a turtle," and here, he gestures to the other's collection of charms. "I... need a starfish."

Contempt for the game is hardly hidden from his voice.

ethereal ball.

Thieves, in Grannvale, are a thing of the past. Or, at least, this is what the opportunistic advisors of his court liked to say—undoubtedly an exaggeration of the truth, but Arvis likes to believe that the sentiment behind it still reflects reality. Under his leadership, the Empire has quickly become a prosperous nation, after all. Even so, the past has only been the past for so long, and theft—born out of greed or out of desperation—is not something foreign to him.

But a thief that gives you something instead of taking from you—is rather unexpected. Arvis glances between his own bracelet and the startled younger man, acknowledging that, well, yes, it is as the "thief" says—he gave Arvis a turtle. He takes his bracelet into his palm, rubbing his thumb over the new charm to examine it. But his attention remains focused on the other man, scrutinizing him, the tremble of his hands, the scar on one of them, the contempt laced in his voice. Vaguely, Arvis recognizes him—a student, perhaps?

Arvis scoffs. So, the student would rather steal than have a conversation. Than indulge in the game arranged by the Viscount. The glower on his face subsides, but his expression remains stern—even unkind. There is a long pause of silence before he deigns to speak, an itch to make the other dwell in the awkwardness just a little longer. Then, he unhooks one of the spare starfish charms from his bracelet, but he does not extend his hand. Not yet, at least.

"The point of the game, I believe, is to exchange dialogue and charms together. Not merely the charms alone." He glances toward the student's own bracelet and its collection of trinkets. The starfish is missing among them. Presumably, the others were obtained primarily through theft, too? Finally offering the starfish, Arvis asks, "Do you have a name?"

[unslake]

[ MORFISIAN ] - A sophisticated dance that celebrates the wondrous beauty of fire magic. In lieu of the Elementals gifting you the ability to perform this dance as intended, the club BOOMS has stepped in offering to help out. Fire magic dances upon your fingers and gives your face an ethereal glow.

The flames surged and spiked and spiraled about the room, and Lyn could only watch in awe at the movement. It took her a second to understand that it was with assistance that anyone could perform the dance, but even still, she was hesitant.

"Are you sure?" she'd asked, and gotten the confirmation - and again, and again, until she saw the warmth light up the ballroom in a glow that could only be described as transcendental. She tried it herself, found that with guidance she could passably make warmth and light, but nothing like the impressive displays of some, and it looked no where near as natural on her as it did on others.

"It suits you," she said, with a little snicker behind crooked finger, but it wasn't meant in negative fashion - the man looked as though he were comprised of the flame itself, as though they were inextricable...for all that he also looked a soggy mess from the rain.

"Mine is no where near so impressive, but perhaps you could show me how it's done. The steps I can learn," she assured him, extending her hand to take, a little starfish in her palm. "But I imagine the display would be better in the hands of one who is used to it, right?"

ethereal ball, first half.

For a time, Arvis simply watches the others partake in the celebration of fire, mesmerized by the warm and dazzling light—the graceful steps of the dance as those familiar with it perform it across the ballroom. Nearby, someone—perhaps a guide—offers to instruct him on the finer details of the dance, helpfully tacking on a few words about how no magic affinity is required… Arvis smiles, poised and magnanimous, and declines politely. But he is interested in the exact steps of the dance—

Not long after, off in his own corner (or perhaps, what was once his own), Arvis allows himself to indulge in a moment of flamboyance. As always, the flames come easily to him—an extension of himself, their warm and dazzling light almost indistinguishable from his own radiance. The steps of the dance are trivial to master, too, and soon, it is as if he has known this dance since childhood.

Suddenly, a voice. Fluidly, he comes to a stop, slowly shifting his attention towards her. So, someone was observing him. "Certainly," he thinks nothing of it, eyeing the starfish offered in her palm. "Although... A demonstration will not necessarily help you become more used to it, yourself." As he accepts the charm from her extended hand, Arvis offers an identical one in return. The exchange is part of the game, isn't it? Even if the charms are the same.

Why not make a show of the exchange, itself? Before she can reach over to accept his charm, he murmurs something quietly—invoking a warm, harmless flame at the center of his palm, the starfish glowing within it. "If you can handle the steps, should we focus solely on the flames?"

[unslake]

[ SPLASH ]

That can’t be who he thinks it is. But no, fate is a mischievous mistress, and it is difficult to forget the face of your murderer. Not that Lewyn will ruin the event for that, no! Or, well, he won’t ruin it for the other guests~.

The redhead’s fair game.

The water isn’t really deep by the shore, and the sands means it’ll be a soft fall. And if not the sand, then the water. Forseti hums, and so does Lewyn, finding a perch somewhere up high, watching the man from a distance. And then-

A gust of wind, just a little more powerful than just a typical seaside breeze- Oh, who is he kidding. Any idiot could tell it was magically induced- pushes Arvis into the water. If he’s lucky, he can catch himself before he falls fully into the ocean.

Either way, Lewyn flounces over, just out of reach, joining his laughter with the sylphs.

ethereal ball, first half.

The majesty of the ocean is always far more breathtaking than Arvis remembers it—an enormity of inhuman, transcendent indifference. Standing this close to it, just barely reachable by the rising waves, the meditative push and pull of the water, he is briefly—and unadvisedly—tempted to close his eyes. To enjoy the breeze as it lifts his hair and caresses his face, a moment of suspended serenity—

It is a mistake.

Almost immediately, the wind changes direction, intensifying into an almost-physical force, intentional, with its own—or someone else’s—will. Perhaps, it is the abruptness of it—but the wind catches him off guard, shattering that moment of beauty, and destabilizes his footing. It sends him careening forward.

A futile indignation surges within him that only makes it worse. His attempts to catch his own balance are muddled by anger, an unnecessary and thoughtless jolt to turn his head in search of the person responsible—and he staggers sideways, strangely, perhaps twisting his ankle in the process, before he splashes into an ill-timed wave. For what feels like forever, he finds himself half-sputtering and floundering—his hands trying to find purchase in the ever-yielding sand beneath the water, his helpless rage trying to conceal itself from the rather ridiculous expression on his face—

It is an extended affair, but in the end, he manages to push himself back onto his feet. His outfit is soaked, but he makes a show of smoothing out the fabric anyway—of straightening out his sleeves. He pays no attention to the strangers who might’ve witnessed this. Although, if his gaze sweeps across the shore, once, twice, thrice—think nothing of it.

[unslake]

[ CRUISE/GRANNVALE ]

"I still cannot believe how extravagant this party is!" Deirdre's eyes widen and sparkle as their ship begins to depart the dock for deeper waters. She has never been on a boat like this designed simply for the pleasure of its occupants. It is incredible and breathtaking and she is elated that she is able to share the memory with the man beside her. "There are so many things to do! I want to try them all! And my friends! You must let me show you off to all of my friends!"

She speaks quickly in her excitement, hardly giving him the chance to answer but, as the ship begins to float further away from the mainland, a small string quartet sets up on deck and begins to play a song that is quite familiar.

"My love..." She smiles up at him as she takes his hands in hers. "We have danced to this before. Will you dance with me again?"

ethereal ball, first half.

In the orange light of sunset, Deirdre is resplendent. Arvis watches her as she marvels at the ship, half-way—as he always is with her, with this vision of her—between aching tenderness and lacerating unease. Her friends, she says. How many of them are comrades of that man—friends of hers from her time with him? Arvis smiles softly, despite himself. Despite his inward reservations toward her, how can he say no to her? To her infectious joy, her excitement—?

Yes, of course, he thinks to say, but does not get the chance to as a familiar sequence of notes ring out, we can do anything you would like to—

Her hands are gentle, cool to the touch against his. Her radiant smile cuts through his hesitation like a blade cuts through silk. "Yes, of course," he answers, his voice low and quiet—just for her. The world narrows again, as it always does when he is with her, and he spares not even a second thought for what the others aboard the ship might think. Her bracelet and its charms graze against his palm as he adjusts his hand. His own starfish charms are in his pocket, half-forgotten—but with her, he almost wonders... perhaps, the game is not as childish as he initially thought. The rhythm of the waltz is like second nature to him, a physical memory, and he takes the lead—

She is Deirdre, irrefutably, despite the minute, yet undeniable differences—like the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, or the exact shape of her smile, or—

As they dance, moving to the music, Arvis is nothing more than her shadow. The sunset halos her hair, gold, angelic, unbearable.

When the music fades, the last note of the violin lingering longer than it should, Arvis holds onto her for a moment, reluctant to let go. He shifts his hand against hers, loosely taking hold of her wrist to examine her bracelet.

"A seashell... Would you like to trade, my dear?"

[unslake]

[ LANTERNS ] - Lanterns shaped like flowers decorate a large table alongside bowls of strips of paper and writing utensils. Guests are instructed to write a wish on the piece of paper and then roll it into the rim of a lantern, and once finished, to set them into the water. The result of everyone’s wishes is a truly breath-taking sight of a hundred little lights on the ocean’s surface.

The lanterns drift along with the tide, bathing his vision in a soft glow. Standing in a less populated stretch of sand along their course, Lucius inhales the sea scent, placated by the sound of the waves lapping against shore. Few people are gathered here, far from the bustling activity happening elsewhere on the beach. He glances over at one of the others.

"It's nice to see everyone's hopes and dreams lit up like this on the water, isn't it?" he asks the red-haired man, raising a hand to indicate the lanterns' path, "Did you put in a wish too?"

ethereal ball, first half.

"It is, yes." Arvis glances toward the stranger, expressionless. His gaze follows the movement of their raised hand back towards the sea of drifting lanterns. Thoughtfully, he rubs his thumb against the blank strip of paper tucked in his hand. What is his wish? How can he put it into words? What can a frivolous gesture like this do for him? For anyone? "It is a beautiful sight."

He closes his eyes briefly. He shakes his head gently. Once, twice. Shadows move across his face, obscuring the careful smile on his lips. Is he wistful? Or is he scornful? It's hard to say.

"But, no, I did not." He reveals his hand from behind his back. The piece of paper flutters, flits away in a sudden renewal of sea wind. He doesn't react to catch it. "I couldn't decide on a wish."

[unslake]

charm tracker:

seashell: deirdre.

starfish: lyn.

anchor: karla + cont'd.

turtle: sothe.

pearl: dorothea.

[unslake]

As soon as the student leaves, Arvis sighs. Frustrated, he tosses the student’s file onto his desk, on top of a small stack of records, one for each student he has seen today. One hand rises to pinch his nose bridge, helpless to stop the developing headache. The names of the previous students remain clear in his mind, their performance trends varying between utterly hopeless and somewhat promising. Originally, this endeavor was the responsibility of a different faculty member, but a conflicting obligation had emerged in the eleventh hour, and Arvis—ever the opportunist—had kindly volunteered to step in for the day. He had thought it would be fruitful to speak with weaker students in need of intervention or guidance. Even rewarding, perhaps. As his fingers make small circles between his brows, he finds himself regretting the decision to offer his help.

At least, only one student remains, their record sitting plainly on the desk. Arvis eyes it with mild, unwarranted contempt, but his hand leaves his face to reach for the file. Thankfully, he still has some time before the appointment. Smoothing out the papers, he skims through the instructor’s notes first, uninterested in the identity of the student until he has gotten a sense of their progress. Or, in this student’s case, the complete lack thereof. Frowning, Arvis flips back to the first page of the records, looking for the student’s name—

Chalphy.

The pages crackle and begin to crease as Arvis’ grip tightens too quickly. Nauseated, he somehow manages to contain the scorching instinct to crush the pages in his fist. Seliph Baldos Chalpy. Why is he surprised? Deirdre had told Arvis about @virtuoustyrfing's existence, about his enrollment at the Officers Academy. Hadn’t Arvis caught glimpses of that dreadful shade of blue—no doubt the boy’s hair, inherited from his father—throughout the monastery? Deirdre’s first child. Her child with the man she married before him, the man she loved before him—

Arvis lets out a quiet laugh, self-incredulous and restrained. Why indulge in this puerile anguish? That man is dead. That man is nothing, now—only a memory, a shadow…

A knock on his office door draws Arvis out of his half-light reverie. He sets the now-wrinkled pages down on his desk and stands. For Deirdre’s sake. “...Please, come in.” After a selfish pause, he answers almost warmly, betraying not even a trace of what he really feels. Resentment—sick, distilled, ice-eyed.

He wonders briefly—What has Deirdre told this boy of me?

i have nothing, i am at your mercy

    ⤿ seliph and arvis.