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[vonvestra]

All that practice... well, Hubert couldn’t say that he was terribly surprised by the results. Disappointed wasn’t the right word either. Not that he would admit it over something that, ultimately, meant very little. But when their routine came to its conclusion, and Hubert finally glanced down to look his partner in the eye, he saw all the emotions that he tried to avoid there instead.

Their final move had been bold - for them, at least - and Hubert carefully set Bernadetta back on her feet, his hand leaving its place at the small of her back just a few seconds after. But his other hand remained clasping hers as if forgotten, until she released it to duck beneath his cape.

“Bernadetta.” Hubert raised his arm to look at her, but he knew coaxing her out would be futile as well. He had nothing to say, he realized. An apology for failing her expectations battled with his realistic view of the competition, and in the end neither made it into words. So he simply let her hide. He looked toward their opponents. It would be difficult for them to do much worse than they had.

Next: @prhyst @headsantails

White Heron Cup

Style: 4 Choreography: 2 Technique: 4 Total: 10

This was an absolute, colossal, complete and utter mistake and Bernadetta didn’t know why she thought she could ever do this.

It had been a moment of panic that prompted her in asking Hubert to be her panic. She had been (and still was!) incredibly thankful when he said yes and she knew she wouldn’t have to be facing this alone. That didn’t make any of this any easier.

The dance had been incredibly stiff and awkward, even Bernadetta could tell as she did her best to follow along Hubert’s lead. They weren’t horrible at the basics; they both had enough practice between them to be passable at the very least, but that was it. Their entire dance was stiff and basic and Bernadetta wasn’t sure if she felt worse for herself, Hubert for being dragged down with her, or the judges for having to stand there and watch them.

As soon as they finished, Bernadetta wished she could go running off the dance floor and find somewhere to hide before anyone in the school had the misfortune of looking at her again, but they had to wait for their scores.

A ten. Bernadetta groaned. No way they would win…

Waiting for the other team’s results, Bernadetta ducked her way under Hubert’s cape. Too many eyes, too many eyes… “Tell me when it’s over.” She whimpered, covering her face as she waited.

tagging; @vonvestra @headsantails @prhyst

[vonvestra]

Elegy to Mr. Bonhomme [Hubert & Bernadetta]

continued from here | @minorindech

“My fault?” Hubert chuckles as she turns on him. He’s noticed how it doesn’t send her fleeing anymore. The very same gesture, with all of its sinister cadence, brings her toward him instead. And when she nudges his arm, he blinks with surprise. His smile though, as crooked as it is, rises higher on one side.

“I can’t even reach your snowman from here,” he says, still with that rare lightness to his voice, as he lifts his crossed arms enough to show her that his hands, too, are occupied. He gazes down at the half-crushed face of Mr. Bonhomme in her hands and a new idea begins to form.

“Fine,” he says at length. “I suppose I can afford to waste a little time here. However, you mustn’t complain if he doesn’t look quite like he had before.”

He kneels to begin scooping together some new snow. He hadn’t dug around in the snow like this since he was a child, and even then, things like snowmen had been too juvenile. It’s a rough effort, but he manages a lumpy ball from the packed snow, and decides that’s good enough for a first attempt.

“I trust you’ll smooth the features out,” he says as he stands, handing her back the new base for the head.

[vonvestra]

And They Have Escaped the Weight of Darkness

They were standard lessons. Lead this way. Step that way. Count the time. Bow to your partner. Hold her hand like so. And they followed their instructor’s words in the clumsy, stiff way children do when they don’t fully grasp the nuance of the skill. Hand on shoulder. Left. Right. Turn. Left. Right. Turn. The piano plinked out an unexciting three-beat melody. It was all make-believe now anyway. They looked no farther to the future than next week. Diplomacy? Etiquette? Courtship? Just words when the real world awaited them a whole lifetime away.

Even so, it was here that Hubert first was captivated by lavender eyes. By silken chestnut hair. By innocent smile. By the delicate hand that rested in his palm - the hand that would be torn from his grasp before he could find a word for the lightness that grew in his chest before every lesson. A lightness that was soon snuffed out by the darkness as well.

Shadows crept into the ballroom with the dust that settled over the piano. Only motes danced in the sunlight that broke in through the windows after that.

- - - -

“Your lessons, Hubert. You will be attending a ball next moon.”

“Yes, Father.”

He was twelve then. Lanky and thin and uncoordinated. Bow to your partner (what partner). Hold her hand like so (whose hand is this). Hand on shoulder. Left. Rig— no, left again. Right. Righ— no, Left. Turn. Their shoulders bumped together.

“Hubert.” His father’s voice.

He flinched, but nothing happened. Again, commanded the instructor. Hand on shoulder. Left. Left. Right. Righ— (stop staring) no, Left. Left. Right. (Stop staring). Turn. Left. Right— no— (stop staring)

“The ball is in two weeks,” came his father’s voice again. Do not disappoint me, he said. And left.

- - - -

The event came and went. Hubert watched it unfold from the comfort of shadows. No one approached him for a dance. He didn’t blame them. It was his father who had tarnished their family’s name. It was his father who sent him to clean up relations with a mask of amiability. To be a good noble in the public eye. But every glance had been a knife thrown his way.

“Hubert.” His father stood at the doorway to his room. “Your lessons.”

Hubert rose from his desk. Wordlessly he approached the silhouette that blocked out the candlelight of the hallway outside and stopped. Then he bent at the waist, his arms pressed against his sides.

“No, Father,” he said, and waited in the heavy silence.

“... Very well.” The man’s expression was unreadable as he turned away from his son. The voice that spoke next scarcely seemed to belong to him, as soft as it was. “... You must stop holding onto her.”

Disarmed, Hubert could only gape at the doorway now empty. He set his jaw. His hands curled into fists. And then he sunk to his knees.

- - - -

It was no act of the Goddess when at last she returned. Those eyes that had so captivated him were haunted by memories she could not speak. Chestnut had blanched to white. Innocence had shattered where a smile could no longer form. And on her hands were a dozen scars newly closed. They never again danced as they had in that ballroom, now locked and forgotten. Their eyes had turned toward the future, but not to diplomacy and courtship. They sought liberation. Revolution. Vengeance. He devoted himself entirely to her will, erasing his own in defiance of his father.

It was the academy that had awakened those old memories of the light again. What life had been like before the darkness. What friendship felt like. What it was like to be carefree. Though his father’s judgment still haunted him, he began to practice his dancing again. The Eagles belonged - not to the Emperor or to the Marquis - but to Edelgard. This was her house. Their house. And he would not dishonor it.

Left. Right. Turn. Left. Right. Turn. Only the moon accompanied him these nights. He was not worthy of any other partner, and the thorns of ballroom’s past drove him away from even making a request. Left. Right. Turn. He was not the prince charming anyone dreamt of, after all. Left. Right. Turn. A glimpse of his reflection in the mirror at the corner of the room caught him grimacing. Left. Rig— His arms lowered from their imaginary partner’s shoulders.

What was he doing this for, anyway.

- - - -

The request came out of the blue. An attempt to assuage Bernadetta’s worry with a dry comment turned all of her flustered energy upon him instead.

“Would you? Please?”

His answer came before the shock allowed him to register it. Her eyes had lit up then with a smile, and he felt something flutter back to life within his chest.

The moon was full that night. And he practiced with his hands on the imagined shoulder of someone new.

[vonvestra]

"Don’t look at me for Mommy Vestra HCs yet. Right now Hubert just came into existence through budding." I look at you for Mommy Vestra HCs. I'm curious to find out what it takes for someone to willingly marry (or arrange their kid to marry) into House Vestra and have those kids grow up to learn shady stuff, and if House Vestra looks for anything in particular when it comes to marriages. Also Mommy Vestra's favorite food. Bonus points if she makes it past Hubert's 20th birthday

// Spoiler alert: she doesn’t make it past his 20th birthday, but I’m giving you a whole backstory to make up for it.

(none of them have names yet, whoops)

Keep reading

[vonvestra]

Boy Scouts [Hubert & Ferdinand]

Fleeting Snow starter for @exemplaris

The sun felt so far away here. Though the day was clear and cloudless, the distant spot of light in the middle of the vast, pale blue sky was hardly able to compete with the ice and snow that blanketed everything below it. The great firs wrapped in their coats of white stood by in silence, as the wind this morning was mercifully absent. A sigh rose in a cloud. This wasn’t the way Hubert wanted to spend his day, but as preoccupied as he was with a nonexistent to-do list while he trudged through the snow to the training area, he found that he had little in the way of excuses. Except that he hated the cold, a fact apparent despite a frown hidden beneath two layers of scarves.

After all, Edelgard had seemed interested in the exercise, and he couldn’t possibly leave her to the wilderness on her own.

The trail through the forest was well-marked, and the trek to the campsite was only half an hour’s walk from the lodge where everyone else was staying. Idly, Hubert wondered why one would give up warmth, food, and proper shelter to train here, but he knew the answer: it was better to do so before necessity forced the experience. That didn’t mean he liked it though.

Eventually the trees opened up to a little clearing. Hubert stopped to survey the space. The ashy remnants of an old fire marked the center of a circle of rocks nearby, and broken stakes from the last tent pitched here were left in an abandoned heap at the base of one tree. And standing on the other side was—

“Ferdinand.” The greeting was as cold as their surroundings. It was just his luck that he would be here, too. But the irritation remained well hidden. With Edelgard, Hubert was certain that they could push Ferdinand to some forgotten corner and ignore him for the duration of the exercise. His eyes darted from his classmate to the shadows cast by the trees, then to the pile of stakes.

“Has Lady Edelgard not arrived yet?”

[vonvestra]

// I feel like things have gotten a bit stale here, and instead of letting myself be bogged down by the thought that I have old threads to reply to, I’m just going to hit the reset button. I’ve tagged everyone in the threads I’ll be dropping below the cut.

IC-wise, Hubert’s absence from the dash lately will be explained by being too bound up in tasks for Edelgard, so he hasn’t been around the monastery much. He will be participating in this event shortly, but interaction will be with the Black Eagles only while I shake off the dust. I’ll be contacting the canon Eagles to determine the support levels our characters will be starting at.

Feel free to shoot me a DM with ideas before then though.

DROPPING:

Colorimetry [+1 Reason] w/ @windsheedme & @prayerwitch Cicuta Maculata w/ @minorindech ‘Tis the Sea Son [+1 any weapon] w/ @boundlesshart Minimum Experience Required [+1 any weapon] w/ @houseofreglay & @seraphiia

[vonvestra]

Minimum Experience Required

houseofreglay​:

Trade and seafaring had been the lifeblood of the port-towns of Reglay (though the Count had rarely found the time or reason to sail out with them) and Pent knew full-well the gravity of the concerns that drove the merchants to Garreg Mach’s doorsteps. Livelihoods hung in the balance… and the ship they had boarded was large enough to hold the livelihoods of hundreds.

With that much cargo, he supposed the risk of pirate-related incidents was practically a certainty. Pirates weren’t stupid; if anything, they were sharp with their numbers, and if they were lucky, less sharp with their blades.

“Hmm? Me? The sea had been more of my father’s domain than my own, but I assure you that barring complications such as bleeding out, I am quite capable of treading water.” 

Ice magic swirled in his hand; for all Pent’s assertions that the particular ‘flavour’ of magic didn’t suit him, he had at least thought far enough to make the mental note to not cast flames around large, wooden structures, no matter how damp it was out there. “That being said, we should probably keep out of the water if at all possible; I haven’t much experience fending off sharks when the waves are bloodied…” A pause. He was probably joking.

(Probably.)

“Though I have to say, it is refreshing to be on this side for a change; the last time I sailed with the expectation of an ambush, we were on a pirate ship being ferried by an actual pirate.” According to Canas, he had missed all the excitement that went down on their first voyage with Captain Fergus, and after that, the trips had always been quiet if not ominous… 

Not exactly something to complain about, in the end. If only he could be so optimistic about this. Instead, Pent was left with a stifling feeling of anticipation in his joints. He stood then, pausing briefly at the door to their cramped cabin. “I think I am going to get some air on the deck and check in with the crew; you are both welcome to join of course. Might as well enjoy the sights if we’re out here.”

.  .  .  .  .  >> @vonvestra​

Better than nothing. In fact, better than Hubert had expected. They all had some experience with the sea, which meant that if the worst came to pass, they would at least not drown. Not immediately, at any rate. Hubert watches the shards of ice glittering in the palm of the professor’s hand.

“It’s merely a routine patrol,” he says to assuage his own worry. Sharks and pirates would not be seen on this excursion if the Goddess looked favorably upon them. One corner of his mouth lifts with a private joke. Perhaps they ought to prepare for the worst after all. Pent stands then and Hubert follows him toward the stairs with his eyes.

“I suppose we ought to follow,” he says with a glance toward Celica as he pushes off from the column he had been leaning against. “Keeping an eye on the horizon is a better use of our time than hiding amidst the storage.” With a parting nod to the crates stacked along the walls, Hubert takes to the stairs behind their professor. The humid sea breeze greets them at the door at the top, and Hubert shields his eyes from the sun as he steps out onto the deck.

“Pirates, hm?” Hubert muses alongside Pent. He throws him a sidelong look and a smirk. “Just when I was beginning to ease my suspicions about you. It seems your background still warrants investigating.”

A bell sounds then. Two rings. Footsteps thunder to one side of the ship to search the horizon for the newly sighted vessel. Hubert makes no move to follow them.

“A false alarm, one would hope.”

Next: @seraphiia

[vonvestra]

"Huuubert!!" He'd found him. Finally. It felt like it had been daaays since he'd been trying to track the other dark mage down. This time, there would be no escape. Ewan jogged up to him, two objects in hand. The first, an owl feather purposed into a quill, which he offered with a smile. “Happy birthday.” It wasn’t anything fancy but he’d made it himself and it ought to be functional, at the least.

And then the other hand-- "Oh, by the way, I was reading about Dark Seals and couldn't find anything like the opposite around? So I made one! A bit basic, being a prototype n all, but since the Eagles have a lot of mages, well. Maybe you know someone who could test it out for me? I’d appreciate it.” A bit untoward maybe to be asking favours on someone else’s birthday but. “What do you think of the name ‘Anima Seal’?”

“Ewan,” Hubert greeted in turn, albeit more calmly. Though he didn’t show it, he was pleased that the other mage was talking to him again despite their showdown during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. And subsequently, Hubert’s own loss after Ewan had urged him to make it to the end of the tournament. That had been a failure in his own eyes, and one that would have lost his respect were he in Ewan’s place. But the past moon seemed to be exactly that to him: in the past.

Hubert’s pace didn’t change as he forced Ewan to keep up with him. A quick “happy birthday” and a small gift didn’t need that much of his time. It was only the presentation of the seal that finally stopped him.

“You made this?” Hubert asked, taking the prototype with interest. It resembled the Dark Seals with which he was so familiar, but the energy emanating from it was clearly different. “That’s right - mages of your country have another name for what we call Reason in Fódlan.” He turned the seal over and ran his finger along its edges. Though it was quiet to his own senses, he could still feel it hum in the same way he felt the earth hum softly. Natural magic... He had never known what it felt to command the elements like his classmates did. Whatever he produced was always that of poison and darkness.

“If it works, it will be quite a breakthrough,” Hubert said thoughtfully, and for once he did not state the obvious: that it was something that had not been invented yet because no one had a need for it. Everyone in Fódlan could cast some brand of anima. It wasn’t artificial and needed no seal, like dark magic did. That probably didn’t matter to Ewan anyway.

“I know someone who can test it,” Hubert added after a moment. “I’ll report the results to you.” He slipped both the seal and quill into his pocket and excused himself.

Perhaps he’d finally get to feel the heat of flames at his fingertips, or the buzz of electricity conjured out of nothing.

[vonvestra]

Rinea knew of him, but nothing about him. Any previous encounters were mere passing in the hall or a glance at him in the classroom. He was often to be lurking around the house leader as she had observed. There was no benefit for her to invest more time than necessary in this man, but today, she happened to catch sight of others giving him gifts. As congratulatory? Or a special occasion? The word "birthday" clued her in as she passed by in her stroll to the greenhouse.

Though she had no reason to send him a gift of any sort, there is something in him that resonates with her. Next when she sees Hubert, it is with a bundle of yellow alstroemerias—nothing too personal, but not thoughtless either.

Rinea's eyes meet his briefly to mutter, "Um, happy birthday." Out of respect, and to evade some awkwardness on her end, she bows her head slightly and holds out the bundle for him to take.

She catches him in the courtyard. It’s sudden. Though Hubert knew of her (Rinea, described in her student file as young noblewoman from Valentia, but hardly anything more), he had never made any formal introduction. And so accustomed to others unacquainted with him fleeing from his presence, he does not expect her to cross his path, much less stop him to speak. It’s the surprise of it all that stops him.

She holds a bouquet out to him and he stares at it for a moment in bewilderment, but accepts the gift before the encounter can turn awkward.

“You’re an observant one,” he says in lieu of a thank-you. His eyes turn to appraise the yellow blossoms. Lilies of some sort, but that is all he can recognize.

“Rinea, was it?” He glances back down at her. “I hope you’re settling in well with the Black Eagles. Lady Edelgard is often busy, but have you need of her, you may pass any message along through me.”

He hadn’t much else to say than that. Another beat of silence, but Hubert breaks it with a polite bow. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

As he continues past her to his room, he looks at the flowers again. Lower nobility though she may be, she seems to know that ingratiating herself to those above will save her in the long run. He would ask Edelgard what she knew of the girl in their next meeting.

[vonvestra]

"Oh Huuuubeeeert!" Hilda greets him in a singsong voice as she skips up behind him. "I was shopping earlier when I found something that reminded me of you and I figured oh what the hell it's your birthday so I bought it. Ta-da!" A package of expensive coffee beans tied up with pink ribbon is thrust at him before she giggles. "Dark and bitter, just like you!"

“Dark and bitter.” Hubert chuckles at the gift now in his hands whether he wanted it or not, and one corner of his mouth rises in a crooked smile. “Yes, I suppose that is true. In any case--” His eyes lift and he examines Hilda with knitted brow. “I can’t say I expected something from you, of all people.”

Nor something that he actually liked.

“What happened to your grudge? The last we spoke, you certainly seemed upset with me,” he prods, his smirk a taunt. There’s no remorse in his tone or gestures, only mild curiosity. He lifts the bag of coffee beans and turns it in one hand to examine the wrapping.

“Or perhaps you’re finally ready to admit that everything I said was true.” He glances toward her again. “I find it hard to believe that this gesture is void of any malice.”

[vonvestra]

"Haaaa...." The swell of soprano comes without warning, filling the air with the soft notes of silver bells, "...ppy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you... ♪ "

"Happy Birthday, dear Hubie! Happy Birthday to you~ ♪ "

Dorothea concludes her song with a flourish and a bow, mirth sparkling in her eyes as she lifts her gaze to meet his. Edie's faithful aide had always been a difficult one to read; she doubts her little performance had done much, if anything, to get a rise out of him. Still, it was rather fun to try.

"I hear it's a certain someone's special day. I'm afraid the only gift I can offer you is my lovely voice, but if you would like to take a break from all of your scheming and finger steepling, the invitation to tea—or coffee!—is always open."

Startled though he is by the sound of anyone serenading him, years of practice throws a steely mask over any sign of it as he turns with some reluctance away from the spread of papers across his desk. His door had been left open. Perhaps that had been his first mistake. He knew better.

“Dorothea,” he says politely once she’s done, with a smile that is as thin as one can be. “As long as that little performance doesn’t cost me anything, I suppose it was... tolerable.”

The quiet pleasure hidden beneath his usual placidity peeks out between words. Contrary to his lukewarm response, Hubert finds Dorothea’s voice to be a rare treasure. He sighs at her offer though and shakes his head.

“However, I must decline the invitation. I’m quite busy right now.” He escorts her back toward the hallway. “There must be another reason you’re on this floor anyway. I’ll not keep you on pretense.”

[vonvestra]

"Hubert." Coffee shared between the two of them with amiable silence or curious conversation had become a relatively common thing... but today, Pent appeared without the aroma of a fresh brew, but instead, a bound stack of meticulously (and more surprisingly, legible) transcribed notes. "No doubt you are already aware of the occasion. I thought you might find these interesting; the original author of the treatise is something of a legend in Elibe."

The professor came at his usual time, and Hubert had prepared to decline the day’s invitation for coffee. It wasn’t uncommon for either of them to be too busy for a break, but for today especially the shadows were calling him to stay out of the public eye.

“Professor,” he greeted in turn and offered a short bow. It seemed that Pent too had much he needed to finish, and the stack of papers were at first mistaken for a manuscript or collection of student essays to grade. Until they were pushed into his hands. Hubert hummed with interest.

“What’s this?” He thumbed through the pages. Paragraphs of methodical study, theories, and recommendations for the use of dark magic, all carefully inked on new parchment. A copy, but— there had been a book in the professor’s room that had caught his eye many moons ago, and its decaying spine and yellowed pages rose now to the forefront of his mind. The amusement that had found its way out in his smirk faded to hard lines and shadows as skimming turned to concentrated reading. This was a treasure out of the Pent’s own personal collection.

“How fascinating...” Hubert murmured to himself as he reached the end of one page. Reluctantly, he resisted the urge to turn and continue, and looked to the professor again. The smirk returned. “This is quite the gift. Let us discuss its contents when next we meet for coffee.” A parting bow. “No doubt you have thoughts of your own about it.”

He might have to clear his evening’s schedule to read instead.

[vonvestra]

The problem with sending gifts with her thank you’s is that Bernadetta’s list was much shorter than she would have liked when it mattered. Another flower broach? That would be pushy. Gloves? Someone else had gifted him them recently. Making something entirely new? Maybe, but she was sure if it wasn’t at least a little practical, Hubert would hate it.

Thankfully, Bernadetta was able to find something she was sure would be useful.

“It’s called Snake Plant.” Bernadetta explained as she placed the small pot down on the table in front of Hubert carefully. It would be so sad if she somehow ruined it now. “I-it’s really easy to take care of, and it can even survive for a while if you forget! It’s also supposed to help you sleep better and be good for you to have it in your room, and since we both, um. Since you helped me out with that, I thought it would be good! But if you hate it or you think it’s ugly or stupid you don’t have to keep it at all, no pressure!”

With nothing to hold onto anymore, Bernadetta’s hands nervously came together. She did her best to smile with some kind of confidence. “So, uh. Happy Birthday, Hubert!”

It was in the library that Bernadetta had found Hubert, and when he glanced up over the top of his book, it was not with any level of surprise. While others desired attention and to be showered with gifts for their birthdays, the heir of Vestra - like the house itself - preferred to stay out of the spotlight. And Hubert in particular made an effort not to reveal his date of birth to anyone, both for security and personal reasons.

There were, of course, a handful who remembered each year. And he figured those who knew him that well would also know where to find him when they went looking. One corner of his mouth lifted, not at the pot with the new plant Bernadetta had thought would suit him (another to add to his collection - it seemed she was determined to turn his room into a second greenhouse), but at Bernadetta herself on the other side of the table. Hubert closed his book and brought one palm to rest on its cover. The other he raised to silent her doubts.

“I don’t hate it,” he insisted with a chuckle. The chair slid back across the wooden floor as he stood. “If this one is as beneficial as you claim it to be, then you ought to know that I would find a use for it.” He lifted the pot and examined the green and yellow leaves for a moment, then he reached down to pick up his book and slip it under one arm. His eyes fell back down to Bernadetta. He hesitated.

“Come with me to find a suitable spot for it.” He turned away abruptly and started for the door. “If you have the time, that is.”

[vonvestra]

horsefeathers — & hubert

vonvestra​:

“Busy with other tasks does not mean that they are not available,” Hubert answered as he pulled Pent back to his feet. His eyes, however, flitted across the enclosures in search of anyone else. Even a student he had seen once ride a horse into battle would be a better substitute, at this point. “And you will find that I can be rather persuasive,“ he added. His reputation as the Adrestian princess’ shadow preceded him, but when that was not enough, the strategic flash of a knife’s edge often was.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to resort to either. The stablehand that had left them with this horrendous task was already coming back to check on them.

“You didn’t believe we’d be up to it,” Hubert returned the man’s greeting. Crossing his arms, he glanced back toward the professor and his now dirtied robes. “Well, you were right. As much as it pains me to admit.”

The stablehand laughed and waved away the accusation.

“Tessa’s a feisty one, that’s all.” On cue, the young pegasus prances up to the stablehand’s side and begins to nibble at one calloused hand. “You two aren’t the only ones she’s roughed up.” And in a monastery full of nobles unused to work, a little dirt often sent them running. Hubert knew enough to read between the lines. He sighed. They likely had been watched carefully from the stables the whole time.

“Is your curiosity satisfied, Professor?” Hubert called pointedly to Pent. He caught up to match his stride as they made their way toward the enclosure’s gate. “Or does your uniform need a few more buckets of mud?”

(He really just goes from zero to a hundred, didn’t he? Pent supposed there were worse things.)

“All things considered, we didn’t break any bones; I’ll take that as a minor victory.” Very minor; such a minor victory that he may just regret even voicing that in the morning whe the bruises rose to the surface to collect their dues for his folly. But the stablehand just chuckled, dismissing the two of them easily as he went to collect Tessa with no trouble at all.

Just. Picked up her lead shank. Clicked his tongue a couple times, and off she went stepping behind him with the assured knowledge that he was leading her back to a warm stall with her dam.

Pent narrows his eyes a little.

“… No, Hubert.” Satisfied? It was like the pieces smoothly clicking into place, and Pent knew a challenge when he saw one. “I think this is just the beginning.”

.  .  .  .  .

(In retrospect… He really should have just cut his losses.)

[vonvestra]

horsefeathers — & hubert

houseofreglay​:

There was something to be said about the best laid plans, wrought with a hundred and one contingencies and nigh suffocating inflexibility under its own weight… But. Foolhardy would have been Douglas’ choice of words, and Pent might have once rolled his eyes and quipped that the man should try pushing the bounds of imagination once in a while. 

Think bigger. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and Pent had never shied from taking a (calculated) leap of faith. When else would he have had an opportunity quite like this? …Though, as Pent lay on the ground, perhaps he should reconsider that stance once in a while. There must have been a good reason Etruria had never successfully raised her own herd.

“Professor!”

“Hubert.” He wheezed. Damn, the filly had a pointy pair of hooves to her…. He wasn’t about to point out that Hubert had effectively left him to ‘handle’ Tessa back there either. 

(Not that he could have helped, if Pent was being honest with himself. What would that have done expect landed both of them on the ground—) 

But a hand came out and pulled him from the ground.

(—he took it all back. See? Hubert wasn’t a terrible choice of partners.)

“I was under the assumption,” he coughed then, muscles aching under the effort. That was definitely going to bruise by the next morning… “That there was no one available, hence our involvement to begin with—”

“You’re still here! Thought you would’ve bolted, not gonna lie.”

Pent turned his gaze from Tessa still exploring the world mouth-first to the sight of the stablehand coming back their way with a wave of one brawny arm. “Oh, thank the bloody Saint.”

“Busy with other tasks does not mean that they are not available,” Hubert answered as he pulled Pent back to his feet. His eyes, however, flitted across the enclosures in search of anyone else. Even a student he had seen once ride a horse into battle would be a better substitute, at this point. “And you will find that I can be rather persuasive,“ he added. His reputation as the Adrestian princess’ shadow preceded him, but when that was not enough, the strategic flash of a knife’s edge often was.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to resort to either. The stablehand that had left them with this horrendous task was already coming back to check on them.

“You didn’t believe we’d be up to it,” Hubert returned the man’s greeting. Crossing his arms, he glanced back toward the professor and his now dirtied robes. “Well, you were right. As much as it pains me to admit.”

The stablehand laughed and waved away the accusation.

“Tessa’s a feisty one, that’s all.” On cue, the young pegasus prances up to the stablehand’s side and begins to nibble at one calloused hand. “You two aren’t the only ones she’s roughed up.” And in a monastery full of nobles unused to work, a little dirt often sent them running. Hubert knew enough to read between the lines. He sighed. They likely had been watched carefully from the stables the whole time.

“Is your curiosity satisfied, Professor?” Hubert called pointedly to Pent. He caught up to match his stride as they made their way toward the enclosure’s gate. “Or does your uniform need a few more buckets of mud?”

[vonvestra]

minorindech​:

It’s with a hand on her chin, not her wrist or arm or hair that’s she’s grabbed and pulled out of hiding. It’s unexpected enough that Bernadetta freezes instead of fighting desperately against the touch, and stares at Hubert with wide eyes.

Hubert looks scary. But it’s the normal kind of scary. The kind she’s been slowly working at no longer running from, and so it’s easier to sit quietly and listen as he tells her she can stay.

Your place. He says, and there’s a strange feeling in her chest at the thought she has a place anywhere than where her father orders her.

“Oh.” Bernadetta responds simply. His answer is simple, to the point, and so very Hubert that Bernadetta feels a little silly for her reaction, as well as the start of a headache or maybe just dehydration. She’d already cried so much today… “O-okay…”

He’s still holding her face and Bernie feels too fragile to move so she just sits there. Tense, but not unwilling. “…I pushed Linhardt in the mud.” She confesses in a quiet voice, glancing over quickly as a healer rushes past. “…b-because he attacked me after I’d lost. A-and then I threw mud in his face. Because he deserved it.”

That Hubert thinks the story sounds like a juvenile playground fight does not break through the practiced mask he wears. He steels his expression instead, knowing that Bernadetta would be chased right back into hiding within herself at the smallest change she could detect. He’s grown used to this, and lets her talk without reaction.

“... it would seem so,” Hubert says at last, hand drawing away from her. “Disreputable though he may be, Linhardt is still a noble of Adrestia, and one who should know that attacking an opponent who has already fallen yields no honor.”

A thoughtful pause.

“I believe Lord Hevring would be ashamed to hear of his son’s behavior. The likelihood of this story reaching either of your families is not something you should fear.”

"I hear you were bested by a cleric," Hubert observes. He sits on a cot near Bernadetta's, left arm extended to the side as a medic sets to work on his burns. Disappointment is the set of his lips into a line, and nothing more. Then his brow furrows as he recalls another rumor. "And you tried to fight Linhardt as well?"

The observation is simple, to the point, and factual, like Hubert is in most things. Also like Hubert, it feels like an unexpected knife in the dark of the tent.

Bernadetta sucks in a sharp breath as she flinches in the silence that follows. Her gaze remains downward as she sits on her own cot. She couldn’t raise her head if she wanted to, and instead focuses on her bandaged arms and the peeks of pink skin she can see.

This was the part she’d been dreading, even more than the fighting. The reaction to how she’d done. Because she’d done terribly, and she was supposed to be representing her house, the empire, Lady Edelgard and she’d done horrible and the fear of her father’s hypothetical appearance had been so much of a distraction she’d completely forgotten the fear of her own housemates was so much more dangerous.

Bernadetta struggles to swallow past the familiar rising lump in her throat. Was he mad at her? He was probably mad at her. Useless Bernadetta had made all the Eagles look stupid by not only losing but losing first and they were wasting their time on her and if they didn’t kill her they were definitely going to kick her out of the Eagles for being such a horrible and useless dead weight and no house was going to want Bernadetta von Loser who got knocked out first and they were probably going to tie rocks to her ankles and toss her off the highest point of the monastery to expel her and

“I’m sorry!” Bernadetta sobs, hands flying up to cover her face. She curled inwards on herself. She didn’t want to look she didn’t want to look she didn’t want to look.

“P-please don’t kick me out of the Eagles! I-I’ll do better n-next time I sw-swear!” Her breathing is a rapid, panicked mess as she struggles to talk. “I-I can’t go home to my father, especially not if he hears about wha-at happened with Lin-Linhardt! He’s gunna kill me!”

[vonvestra]

Tears and hysterics are an ever-present risk when dealing with Bernadetta. Hubert knows this, but predictions, expectations, and forethought rarely find themselves at the center of his everyday interactions. He had not come to manipulate his classmate, to pry something out of her, but merely to ask after her experience in the tournament. His own tone relays disappointment that he doesn’t think to conceal until it’s too late. Whatever disappointment Bernadetta had harbored toward herself reacted as if to a catalyst, and overflows now in uncontrollable apologies and desperate promises.

“Bernadetta,” Hubert tries to interrupt her. She talks over him.

“Bernadetta.”

More apologies and fabricated futures.

“Bernadetta.” With his free hand, he reaches for her chin and lifts so that she looks at him. “Your place is still within the Eagles; your performance today has no bearing on that.” His voice is stern and his expression serious, but the disappointment - for now - has left. “And whatever happened with Linhardt, your father won’t hear of it. You have my promise.”

He’d be checking up on Linhardt by the time the tournament ended, it would seem. On the way home. In the dark.

"I hear you were bested by a cleric," Hubert observes. He sits on a cot near Bernadetta's, left arm extended to the side as a medic sets to work on his burns. Disappointment is the set of his lips into a line, and nothing more. Then his brow furrows as he recalls another rumor. "And you tried to fight Linhardt as well?"

The observation is simple, to the point, and factual, like Hubert is in most things. Also like Hubert, it feels like an unexpected knife in the dark of the tent.

Bernadetta sucks in a sharp breath as she flinches in the silence that follows. Her gaze remains downward as she sits on her own cot. She couldn’t raise her head if she wanted to, and instead focuses on her bandaged arms and the peeks of pink skin she can see.

This was the part she’d been dreading, even more than the fighting. The reaction to how she’d done. Because she’d done terribly, and she was supposed to be representing her house, the empire, Lady Edelgard and she’d done horrible and the fear of her father’s hypothetical appearance had been so much of a distraction she’d completely forgotten the fear of her own housemates was so much more dangerous.

Bernadetta struggles to swallow past the familiar rising lump in her throat. Was he mad at her? He was probably mad at her. Useless Bernadetta had made all the Eagles look stupid by not only losing but losing first and they were wasting their time on her and if they didn’t kill her they were definitely going to kick her out of the Eagles for being such a horrible and useless dead weight and no house was going to want Bernadetta von Loser who got knocked out first and they were probably going to tie rocks to her ankles and toss her off the highest point of the monastery to expel her and

“I’m sorry!” Bernadetta sobs, hands flying up to cover her face. She curled inwards on herself. She didn’t want to look she didn’t want to look she didn’t want to look.

“P-please don’t kick me out of the Eagles! I-I’ll do better n-next time I sw-swear!” Her breathing is a rapid, panicked mess as she struggles to talk. “I-I can’t go home to my father, especially not if he hears about wha-at happened with Lin-Linhardt! He’s gunna kill me!”