A soldier and fear - how can those two things go together?
You can put me to the proof.
Once upon a time there was a soldier that had fought years of war without despair or complaint. He fought well and bravely stormed the front lines whenever his general called upon him, and when peace had finally been achieved; his general called upon him one silent night and said:
¬ It is finished, our country shall finally know rest and men and women and children shall speak of peace for centuries come. You and I have done well, and so have all those that have departed. Now you and I are free.
¬ Free? What do you mean?
¬ Now that this land is free from war's chains, we are yet again ordinary men, and ordinary men choose their own obligations. Your sword you shall now wield for your name and yours only until you see fit, and your blood shall no longer flow as part of this country's heart. Freedom is a reward as much as it is a burden, and it is up for you decide which form it shall take.
Now it so happened that the brave soldier had no home or family to return to. So to the general he had fought together with for years, he had asked:
¬ Then where shall I go?
With his sword strapped to his back the soldier went forth into the world, taking along with him what was left of his provisions and the sack of gold that was given to him as a reward for his service. By foot he decided to head south, towards the country where it was said that spring thrived all year long.
¬ What spring is I shall endeavor to learn, for all I have known is the bite of the winter snow.
But no sooner than he had left the borders he encountered a hound on its lonesome, shivering from the sheer cold in a hovel. With haste he stripped himself of his mantle and covered the poor animal with it, and with bandages he made a small cot.
¬ What I would do to give you a warm bed and a roaring fire, little one,
¬ but alas! Forgive me, for this is all I can spare.
Now the soldier continued to travel in this manner until he had come to a point that all his provisions he had given away to the animals he took pity on in the wild. Finding respite in a frozen glade; he sat down on the roots of a large tree and began to think over his fate.
¬ I have walked for days end and all I have left my sword, a map, and a sack of gold;
¬ a village is near reach, but how bitter the cold grows!
¬ Perhaps I shall not learn what spring is, after all.
All at once there was a rustling, and when the soldier had stood in full attention a strange person stood tall before him, dressed in a robe of a deep dark green with its hood covering the draping over the person's face. The strange fellow said:
¬ Listen well, for I shall tell you what I had seen for days end: there was a soldier who had given away his mantle and bandages to a shivering hound when he could've wrapped his wide back and frozen knuckles with them;
¬ a soldier who had given away his jerky to a skulk of foxes then a herd of deer when he could've skinned all their fur for warmth and roasted their meat;
¬ and a soldier who had given away his herbs to a trapped wolf then a struggling cub when he could've used them for his blistered feet and chapped skin.
¬ Now you shall tell me what I see before my eyes,
¬ I see a foolish man before me, money and sword he has but close he was to drifting off and catching himself into the winter's cold embrace. Do you agree?
To this, the soldier replied:
¬ The soldier you had seen for days end and the foolish man before you are one and the same,
¬ money and sword he has, but freedom he also possesses.
¬ The bite of winter I had learned to accept during my days and nights,
¬ so it is no skin off my back, to help such creatures in their plight.
¬ Were I to be captured by the winter, it is then I am a true fool;
¬ for years of war had not claimed me, but simply sleep had become my lure.
The strange person laughed so hard that their shoulders shook violently, causing the hood to fall away from their features. The soldier had been talking to a man; a man with long hair the color of the night and sharp eyes a strange pinkish hue; like the flesh of a pomegranate. The stranger laughed and laughed and when he had gotten his fill, he said:
¬ Is that so? Very well!
¬ Then look behind you.
The soldier did as he was told and he saw a large bear approaching the glade, growling and baring its large teeth.
¬ Let us see what will take ahold of you first.
— bearskin. | 1815
1: post-reading notes here!
2: tl;dr: bearskin is about a soldier who encounters the devil when he was in despair what do with his life. the devil challenges the soldier's bravery, and in response the soldier kills a bear that was about to charge at him. with the bear dead, the devil is satisfied and offers the soldier as much riches as he wanted, as long as 1) he would wear the skin of the slain bear over himself, 2) he would not shave, bathe, cut his nails + hair, change clothes, say the Lord's prayer, and 3) he would do all this for seven years straight. thinking this to be a deal that would not do him harm, the soldier agrees; and thus his moniker over his years of wandering, bearskin.
Love your lil writing pieces in twst! But I'm kinda curious where you get all your writing prompts? Or do you make them up on your own?
hiyaaaa and thank you!!! i'm glad you like them (°◡°♡).:｡
as for your question - yes, i do make them on my own! prompts on my 3sens + drabbles are all mine unless i made disclaimers..... on occasion though, i reblog some stuff that looks interesting to work with, but admittedly i don't get around to using them either lmaooooo (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑)
the qs from my q&a series tho i got from the nosebleed club!!!!!! very inspirational.... there's a ton of gorgeous writings being reblogged/posted over there, too! (‘∀’●)♡
— bearskin.
assorted post-reading notes for this post!
obviously longer than the jamil piece bc ngl this was rly fun!!!! went back to trying to write like the ye olde.... aaaaaaand that just made my process longer bc i was spewing out fancy dialogue...... plus i just liked imagining silver in the wintry setting.........
so bearskin ft. silver! this was interesting in the sense that i was thinking hard of what rendition to follow as my foundation, but i still went with my usual reference as the soldier's encounter with the devil has more substance!
other stuff that stood out to me from other renditions: in the austrian ver., a very filthy boy becomes the keeper of hell for seven years. the philippine ver. has a mother so desperately praying for a child that she ends up also praying to the devil, and when her child had turned seventeen the devil comes to claim her child. the russian ver. has a washed out soldier that agrees to stay as bearskin....... for fifteen years LMAOOOO that's the longest condition i've read!!!!!
anyway the first thing i thought of before anything else was HOLY SHIT DO I MAKE SILVER KILL THE BEAR KSKSKSKSKS but that aside!!!!! i've always thought that the level of devotion animals have for silver is the type that if for him and if he needed to, they would give their lives for him.
though again, i wouldn't think silver would be the type to accept any sort of sacrifice be it from his animal friends. if it concerns malleus however........ he'd probably consider, but that is one option he'd prefer not to think about even if he was desperate.
silver admits like... yeah... he's a fool for giving away provisions to random animals like charity but if you do look at it, it would be funny if he just.... actually dies in his sleep bc he was careless of the cold (which he's been used to his whole life). not of hunger. or thirst. both he could've possibly experienced during war. then y'know, war proper. so yeah.............
changed stuff up early by showing silver being a disney princess doing good deeds even before he meets the devil. there's actually not much detailing the years of bearskin's travels (or pre-bearskin), but the common thought is that he went around either doing good things or spend cash like water despite his awful appearance (bearskin state, of course).
it's always bearskin on his own, so if i'd actually continue this piece i'd spice it up by letting the devil tag along with bearskin as he goes around the world in seventy days whoops wrong story as he'd go around wandering for seven years!
that's actually what i kept wondering about on every rendition i read, but it does make pretty good sense - you'd think that a person (despite their horrible appearance) granted with unlimited cash for seven whole years would turn foul precisely because they have the power to spend and buy at whatever price. the devil must've been confident that over time this man would be no different from others, and he would soon fall to greed and arrogance. well.
or the devil must have underestimated the man's strength of will! certainly a weary man that had come back from the war would seek some companionship of some kind - seven years of isolation would do the man no good, and he may give up and strip the bearskin of his own accord. lol..... none of this happens though aha but oh well the devil gets two souls at the end anyway.
those points made, i think i was pretty lucky to have picked up silver from the randomizer to star in this one! silver is a relatively good person, and plus points for the main chara of this story being a soldier as silver is somewhat close to that. not to mention his affinity towards animals gave me some plot points to work with.
........ obviously the devil being lilia is my self-indulgent copium LMAOOOO ch7 update this late may don't disappoint me now.........
SOBBING BC OF THIS POST BC I DID NOT expect any K Project fans to play twst (I have a thing for lion motifs, can't you tell/j) I've always felt that Homra and Savanaclaw are very similar 😭😭😭😭
hiyaaaa and ooooooh a fellow k project fan aha! lol i kept up with k until missing kings if i recall, but i haven't had time to peek at seven stories lmaooo - OH WOW WAIT IT WAS OUT 2018!?!?!?! Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)
LOL not gonna lie i was just thinking of some random title for that snippet, but yeah homra and savanaclaw do give off some similar vibes! probably it's because both groups value strength, in different senses of the word... it's not just about raw power, but how you make it your own and fight your way with it.
and while both groups have the freedom to move on their own, they are still conscious of who's on top, who they follow - that basic respect for their leader! there's also the pride, too - both groups do value their names and most likely won't let insults towards them slide too easily.
... to homra's credit though, they at least can work with each other as a group without problem or resistance - savanaclaw comes out a bit more dubious with this!
— godfather death.
assorted post-reading notes for this post!
to no one's surprise this was SUPPOSED to be longer again LMAO but yeah!!! i was trying to limit my writing into smaller sections in order not to get so hung up on adding details....
anyway!!!! godfather death ft. viper siblings... well... the longer i thought about it, this would've been better if i placed the shroud siblings but i drew jamil on the randomizer so okay????
it's implied, but the viper parents have passed away already for this fic, around when jamil was seven years old. how old najma was then idk bc the game doesn't mention their gap LMAOOO but maybe around three or four years old tops?
actually in some renditions of the fairytale, the godchild is an only child or the youngest in the family. i was toying with the idea of najma being the godchild, but since jamil is the focus.......
now would jamil tell the whole truth about the herb + godfather appearing and stuff to najma??? well... he'd just tell her about the herb, that's all. i've wondered if other renditions of godfather death has the godchild mentioning the knowings of their treatment to others, but....
though i don't think najma wouldn't mind not being in the know as long as it doesn't harm anybody? like yeah nice herb so it heals ppl mhmmm no bad consequence on you or others? alriiight! this is probably the reason why she insisted on tagging along with jamil ever since he had healed her friend. she just wanted to make sure everything's ok (and also, just to see the herb work wonders again).
the thing about the godfather she'd really like to ask though, but if jamil's not gonna talk about it then fine.... but probably over time she decides to drop this completely bc if the herb is that powerful, then what about the person who used to hold it? maybe it was better that she didn't know and instead take things into stride. at first she was pretty skeptic about jamil's godfather like bruh u seriously had a godfather???
jamil here lives a rather ordinary life, very routine. it's no exaggeration to say that receiving the herb turned his and najma's lives upside down. they got by normally before, but as jamil slowly made use of the herb they were able to eat decently on a regular basis then eventually rake in more cash and eventually travel out of their hometown.
in some renditions of the tale, the godchild sets up a clinic themselves. here i find it more appropriate for jamil to choose traveling around healing people instead of opening a clinic himself considering his careful nature. those he heals aren't just for charity, either - he'd definitely account some benefit on the people he chooses to heal. though probably there are also those he chose to heal in order to up his reputation or to get some rumors going.
that aside, as jamil is careful, he'd prefer not many people be looking into him closely. explaining the herb to najma is one thing, but to other people... definitely not. being too renown is dangerous, and while the godfather had not mentioned any drawbacks about losing the herb or whatever, those are chances jamil would not risk.
i wanted to add a portion of najma and how she saw jamil as they traveled.... like, in normal cases, if someone had that powerful herb, they'd go around healing a lot of people as much as possible. someone like a saint, or a hero in fairytales. but the thing is, jamil is no saint, nor was he a hero. he was just... jamil. he could've done better, he could've done worse. but no, he did what he always did - be the older brother who did what he had to in order to live well.
okay now i didn't add a portion explaining the thing about death & the herb either. the if death is by the head of the patient, they could be cured but if death was by the feet they would die part. najma's last words would've made more sense if i added a portion hinting that she was getting an inkling of this. lazy me would say that its implied stuff or she gets to learn about it bc jamil tells her, but yeah. kinda regret not placing that there.
if i'd add that portion, it would probably go around the lines of najma wondering why sometimes, whenever jamil would visit a patient, he'd look at the person from head to toe then nod. well. it's not actually an odd thing to do, but eventually najma gets the feeling that jamil is nodding at someone. someone who is not the patient. thus she says her end line at the last scene: has your godfather come to visit me, too?
big question! would jamil trick his godfather to save najma just like the fairytale??? WELL! if u want an honest answer out of me i'd say no but the sap in me says yes what a pickle lmaoooo real reason why i left this hanging.........
........ the godfather i had in mind was sam but yeaaaah i think crowley would also fit here idk ksksksksksks
The man asked, who are you.
I am death, and I make all equal.
The day Jamil turned seventeen, he received a herb.
The herb was as long as his hand, its sheen a dark green, its leaves broad and scent something fresh. It was just a herb, and yet Jamil held it in between his fingers earlier with such a furrow on his brow and a frown on his lips.
"Oh, don't make that face," Najma says. "C'mon, if you don't know what it is or what it does we can just boil it or sell it."
Jamil sighs. "No need. I already know what it does."
"Huh. Then what's the problem? Who gave it you, anyway?"
"... My godfather."
"... You had a godfather?"
"Najma."
She dabs away at her eyes with a cloth, but she does not face him. Jamil crosses his arms across his chest and leans on the doorframe.
"... What do you want."
"... Your friend. Where does she live?"
Najma turns around, eyes red and glaring. Jamil does not flinch or move from where he stood, his figure ominous under the dim light.
"Why do you need to know?"
"What did you do!?"
Jamil pries Najma's shaking hands off his forearms, steps a few paces away from her. Stray strands of her hair are sticking to her sweaty face, her nose was red and running a bit. Her voice rasps with both exhaustion and shortness of breath.
"But... but... they all said... only three... three... three days left... but how...?"
Jamil looks past his sister, to the hut behind them. Through the open window one could see a family of three huddled together in a tight embrace - two adults and one healthy child in the center, all smiling and tears streaming down their faces.
"She's alive now," Jamil says, reaching out to rest a hand on top of Najma's head. "Isn't that enough?"
One day when Jamil was about to step out of the hut with a satchel strapped to his waist, Najma drops her half-woven blanket to run after her brother and tug at his sleeve.
"I'm coming with you," she says.
Jamil narrows his eyes. "You don't need to - get back to work."
"I'm going, whether you like it or not," she huffs.
They just stand there for a moment, glaring at each other until Najma pushes past Jamil and walks out of the hut.
"So where are we going?"
Light clinking sounds rung out from Jamil's satchel each step he took; no doubt coming from the pouch inside that held enough thaumarks that would feed them well for the rest of the month and then some. The sound was akin to little bells, one that Najma had her herself whistling along to as they walked their way back home.
"So its like a cure-all," Najma says. "like magic in fairy tales."
Jamil snorts at her comment.
"But both those things don't exist," he replies, moving onward.
"Hey."
"What."
"So what kind of person is your godfather, then?"
One could say that like anybody else, Jamil was a creature of habit. He was one whose mornings started with the bow and arrow at the crack of dawn, one whose afternoons were spent bargaining with the merchants of the markets and one whose evenings were knit deep with wool or thread until he had burned his midnight oil. His routine ran as steady like water and like clockwork was his every toil; but that was how he had lived the ten years of his life with his younger sister under his wing.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
Najma asks him this halfway through her meal, eyes round and blinking. Jamil had not touched his own portions yet, but both were warm and fragrant under his nose.
A loaf of freshly baked white bread. Stew with generous portions of meat and vegetables.
Removing the weight tied to his waist, he sets the satchel on one end of the table then picks up a slice of bread.
"The chief was looking for you."
"It's about his son, isn't it."
"Yeah. You going?"
"You're the one halfway through the door, though."
One could say that like anybody else, Najma had read fairytales. She was one who had read about wide kingdoms and kind rulers, one who had dreamed of knights and princesses and witches, and one who had wondered about magic and miracles. These are the worlds she had traveled to when she was still a small child wrapped in the warmth of her parents' embrace, but now that she was older and able to stand up on her own, she grew wise enough to learn that her world was vastly different from those in fairytales.
Maybe that is why she gives the old lady her shawl - it is perhaps too colorful, too long, too thin; but it is received carefully and with whispers of tearful thanks.
"Let's go," Jamil tells Najma.
A nod, but Najma's eyes still linger to the old lady - the shawl that Najma gave was now being wrapped around someone else's shoulders; around a young noble boy who was too pale, too small, too frail for such a large bed.
"Can I buy some cloth? One bolt of whatever material would do. Nothing colorful either."
"What are you making?"
"Gonna try making shrouds."
Three months.
It had been three months since they had left the comfort of their hut, their village.
Three months since they have gone around the country, visiting the ill or the ill finding them.
Three months since they have been sought after by kings, queens, nobles, commoners.
Three months since Najma had been making shrouds.
Three months since Jamil had met his godfather.
Three months.
The herb was as long as his hand, its sheen a dark green, its leaves broad and scent something fresh. It was just a herb, and yet Jamil held it inside his fist with such a furrow on his brow and a frown on his lips.
"Oh, don't make that face," Najma says as she draws her hand out from under the covers to swat at her brother's arm. When Jamil would not raise his head to face her, his head still so close to lowering itself on her mattress; Najma closes her eyes and her voice becomes something small.
"Ah... Has your godfather come to visit me, too?"
— godfather death. | 1812
2: going grimm's fairytales!au ft. twst cast for this month's ficathon! the indented text above is an excerpt the actual fairytale + a link to the full tale. there's also a link tied to the fairytale's title at the end of the fic - it shows the different translations/renditions of the tale in other languages.
3: a tl;dr version: godfather death is a story about a poor man with twelve children - when he had his thirteenth child, he immediately sought out a godfather. he meets two people: god then the devil, but he makes neither of them a godfather. instead the man chooses death as his child's godfather, and when the child had grown older death gives his godchild a herb as a present. death says he will make his godchild a celebrated physician. whenever there would be a patient, death would be there too: if death stands by the patient's head, then the godchild would say that the patient could be cured with the herb death had given. however, if death would stand by the patient's feet, the godchild must say that the patient cannot be cured - the patient would be taken by death, so the godchild must not interfere.
4: and since i don't want to clutter this space anymore or flood my tags, each story comes with post-reading notes!
Now where on earth did it go? Left, right? A mere glance at his options, and he makes his decision in a snap. The path on his right hosted thicker rosebushes, leaves yet to be trimmed and roses pruned. Therefore, sunlight would pass less on the area. Lesser sunlight meant a darker place - perfect for hiding.
He keeps his pace at jog, all while keeping a sharp eye on the ground he walks on. A flash of sudden movement catches his gaze, leading further ahead - to where there's a dead end.
There's the rustling of leaves, not caused by his own footfalls.
Found you, he mutters under his breath. His jog turns to a walk, soft and steady as possible until he reaches that small disturbed spot. Crouching carefully and lowering his head close to the ground, he parts a portion of the hedge with his hand; shifing through the mass of leaves and branches until...
... he spots a curled ball nestled among the leaves, just a few inches away from his reach.
Riddle lets out a sigh, all the tension built up from his running and searching flowing out of his system. He found it before it had turned dark, what a relief. But what was he to do now?
The hedgehog continued to shiver all alone, still a spiky little ball.
TWO —
At a glance, there is nothing special about him but his physique. As a member of the Track and Field club, it is to be expected that he is in proper shape.
What else was there? For one, he was aware that Deuce Spade's grades were below average. Spade, despite being of Heartslabyul where order was prized over anything else, also seemed to carry a troublesome reputation along with his fellow dorm mate, Ace Trappola. To make matters even worse, both of them were known to be friends with the residents of Ramshackle dorm - to a duo with equally questionable reputations.
Sebek huffs - he keeps a tight grip on his magic pen and straightens himself, eyes focused solely on his opponent.
I must not dismiss the possibility of foul play occuring considering his supposed notoriety.
Adapting a defensive stance for the start of the match is a fine strategy for now, considering I haven't an inkling of the human's magic aptitude and strength.
To find an opening and to have a general idea of his capabilities - that's what I should prioritize first.
Once I've secured both or at least one... it's then I should form my plan of attack.
"The practice match will begin when the mirror falls to the ground!" the instructor's voice echoes.
THREE —
Sevens help him.
The practice match was about to begin, but his stomach was still churning. Deuce takes in a deep breath, lets out a longer exhale. Damn it, did he have to be so nervous?
It's just a practice match, he repeats to himself like a mantra, and somehow it helps. Now that he thought about it, didn't he fight worse things? The thing in the dwarven mines... a couple of seniors... the Dorm Leader... the Dorm Leader's overblot form...
He shudders for a completely different reason now. The image of that figure, dressed in dreary reds and dripping blacks, really hit differently. The searing heat of even the smallest lick of fire, the snapping sound of thorned whips hitting the ground. The spill of ink everywhere and anywhere, the heavy scent of burned and burning grass.
The Dorm Leader's frenzied shouting and warped cackling, like a man going mad.
... Remembering that terrible thing wasn't meant to be reassuring in the slightest, but strangely enough Deuce allowed himself to relax.
Right. I survived that incident... and if I made it out of that, then it means...
Deuce pulls out his magic pen from his blazer's breast pocket.
... I can face Sebek head on, no problem.
"Ready, set - go!"
FOUR —
"Oh, mind his head."
A warm hand nudges his own, guides him to lift his arm a bit higher so that a small, swaddled head would now come to rest on his upper arm better. But his shift in position suddenly has the babe moving, too - small arms and legs flail for a moment before they roll over, coming to rest on him in awkward angles.
"Seems he likes you," his sister-in-law chuckles, reaching out this time to stroke her son's head. "It's like he's curling up to you."
Leona had nothing to say about that, but he does pull his arms away from his body slowly - now granted with more space, the baby's arms and legs fall slack, allowing them to rest comfortably against his chest.
A soft smacking noise escapes small lips.
"I remember holding you too, Leona, shortly after you were born," Farena says with a warm smile, voice an unusual kind of soft that Leona had never heard from him before. "You were that small... but Cheka's a lot cuter, though."
A slap on the arm, a hearty laugh - it's a warm atmosphere for the king and the queen, for a husband and wife celebrating the birth of their first child.
But all Leona could do was stand where he was in silence, the weight of a world resting peacefully in his arms.
1: leona reappears for this batch! here's everyone's context:
riddle -> ... i just want to help you.
sebek -> don't think i'll lower my guard for a second!
deuce -> you're just human!
leona ->... heavy, that's what you are. (pre-game)
The oddest thing is how real each gaze feels - it has the sharpness that gives an uncomfortable pricking sensation, the poke that makes the hair on the back of your head stand up.
Then there's the whispers - the whispers! They keep it all wispy, the kind that brings to mind the ghosts hanging around the school premises. It is noisy in same odd manner it is not, loud in the same manner that it could be easily carried away by the winds.
"Oh dear, oh goodness gracious! Do you see that over there?"
"A diamond painted over his eye... Orange hair... Oh, is that him? The one that had dared to leave Lady Rosalia hanging?"
"My! To abandon an arrangement with a lady such as Madame Rosalia on such short notice! What a display of inconsideration!"
"And to think that the Madame was absolutely delighted to have some people to keep her company, if even just for an hour..."
"Hmph, what do you expect? This school is simply filled with boys, not gentlemen - you lot set your standards too high!"
"To ask that everyone of this school be a gentleman is quite the lofty standard. However... is it too much to ask for basic human courtesy?"
Ace listens to all this and more as he and Cater cross the corridor, the paintings hung up on the wall not letting up on their chatter as they passed.
"Wow," Ace says, snickering at Cater who seemed to hung his head low, away from a line of sight. "You're super popular today, Cater-senpai!"
TWO —
A tentative shake, a double take at the label. One last check to be safe: he pops the lid open, takes a sniff of the shaker. Jade tilts his head, brings a hand over his mouth.
Strange. Didn't he just restock this yesterday?
"For table thirteen!"
Jade instinctively draws himself closer to the counter, allowing one of the cooks to deliver a finished dish smoothly towards the service area. There's a light savory aroma that wafts when the chef passes by, along with something a touch robust.
"Are these the spinach puffs?" Deuce Spade's voice echoes into the kitchen, tone doubtful. "... Huh. Smells different."
Setting the shaker down on the counter, Jade lifts his head up to look at the overhead cabinets. If he was right, the stocks for the herbs and spices should be at...
"You try making 'em yourself, wise guy," the chef snaps back. "Followed everything to the letter - onions, dill, parsley, cilantro..."
... hold on now, wasn't that too much herbs?
"S-sorry, senpai... I wasn't questioning your cooking. It just smells different from how the other chefs made theirs, that's all."
Jade looks over to the serving area, to where the two anemones were talking.
"And I think your nose's all clogged up from serving food all day," the chef huffs, pushing the plate of spinach puffs off to Deuce. "That stuff's the real thing, so go on! I got other food to fix!"
So that's how it goes: Jade watches the two go their separate ways, one back to the cooking station and the other off to serve food to a waiting customer.
"Ah," Jade chuckles to himself, staring at the half-full parsley bottle in his hands. "Now I see."
THREE —
Forty yards away from the goal, and the opposing team decides to do this:
the one coming from his left side is literally rushing towards him, head lowered like a bull's and hands formed into tight fists around his sides.
the one behind him, trying to catch up to him - is mumbling some incantation. Based on how the air draws a bit thinner as he moves forward, it must be a wind spell of some sort.
the one running towards him, laughing like there's a damned party going on, has his arms extended like he's reaching out to perform a tackle. Looking closely, the nails of his fingers are all long and sharp.
So that's one aiming to take him down through brute force, the other attempting to hinder both his pace and breathing, and another more or less intending to injure him. Leona snorts, keeps running. The Magift disc is still a halo burning red atop his head, its floating state maintained by his magic.
Sevens, he wouldn't give a damn if all of them just charged at him at once, dirty tactics and all.
"All you mutts keep wasting my time."
FOUR —
There are core differences between the words I can't, I won't, and I will; and Trey Clover wears them on his sleeve, has them inscribed on the back of his hand.
I can't were the first words he wore when he had watched a young boy be kept away from the world by his own mother, I won't followed shortly after when that mother had threatened him with the biting edge of her tongue and the sharpness of her eyes. I will is a will half baked, a wish unfulfilled when he made his first strawberry tart but was never able to deliver it to his intended recipient, so there it just laid for years to fester. Forgotten.
Years later, he wears them again.
I can't for those times he chose to salvage a situation instead of directly addressing it, I won't for all those times he had watched the passed judgement of beheading.
How long has it been, has it been a year... no, two years already?
Have the words I can't and I won't formed his second skin now?
Even as he watched the young boy - that same young boy kept away by his own mother - drown in ink before his very eyes?
Where was his will?
1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:
cater -> aww, i can explain! (see: cater school!uni card)
jade -> it seems that more training is required... (ch3)
It began with an accidental brush of the shoulders, hurried apologies and a brief glance with a smile. The other went about their day unaware that the one left behind was gazing at their retreating figure for far too long.
Ah... of what use is a voice to be proud of, when you are unable to vocalize the words you want to say the most? Will speechlessness earn you affection? Will simply staring without a word get you anywhere, would earn you the pleasure of knowing her name?
Oh, you poor unfortunate soul...
Would you like to make a deal?
.
Untamable. Wiry. Stiff. Unmanagable. Such a lineup of words to describe the very hair that grows on the top of your head! Shampoos, conditioners, oils. Hats, clips, scrunchies. Everything and anything under the sun, even the oddest of magic incantations! Will nothing work?
Ah... of what use is a huge tail, a speed to be proud of when you are unable to match it up with your own appearance? With the length of your hair and the unruliness of it all, who is to say that you aren't bound to get into an accident someday? With the length of your hair and the unruliness of it all, is there even the slightest glimmer of hope for it to be fixed?
Oh, you poor unfortunate soul...
Would you like to make a deal?
TWO —
The queen seems to be squinting.
Was she displeased about something, or did the light of the morning sun not work well with her today? Lilia kept his face calm, but he adds a bit of speed to his initial pace - crossing the audience hall faster meant knowing the reason of his summons, after all.
Now standing in front of the throne, he's about to get down on one knee and give the queen and the prince she cradled in her arms their greetings, when...
"... Pft."
Lilia's gaze snaps immediately to the queen, to her hand that had covered her mouth all of a sudden. He ends up blinking faster when the queen drops her hand and smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"You seem to be sporting... quite a hairdo with your head held high, General Vanrouge."
The queen lets out a chuckle, then she lowers her gaze to the sleeping child in her arms.
"Wouldn't you agree, little prince?"
THREE —
96 points.
This was his paper, right? It was his hand reaching out to take it from the professor, right? For a moment he's so sure but then his hand stops itself, fingers just inches away from taking what was his.
"You've outdone yourself, Viper-kun."
Jamil raises his head to meet Professor Trein's gaze.
"Ah, but I suppose it's more accurate to say that you've stopped restraining yourself."
Lucius meows softly from where he laid on the desk, as if in agreement with what his owner had just said. With the professor's knowing gaze and the cat's odd scrutiny, Jamil found a bit of difficulty in composing himself.
... But why?
Wasn't he being acknowledged for efforts? Wasn't attaining the second best score for this test something to be proud of? And judging from what the professor said... he was being watched. The professor had an inkling of what he was truly capable of. And now, he was proving Professor Trein right.
He had stopped restraining himself.
And now, Jamil was getting what he rightfully deserved. After all this time.
His fingers reach for his paper once more.
FOUR —
"My. Does Sebek intend to merge himself with the coffee table, perhaps?"
"I'm... not really sure. The other students that had passed by the common hall claim that Sebek has been here for a while."
"In that same position?"
"Face flat on the table and mumbling incoherently, yes."
"Oh dear. Is it puberty?"
"Lilia. Silver."
"Oh, Malleus. You're back early! Doesn't the Gargoyle Research Society have its usual tour this afternoon?"
"Correct. I had brought Sebek to accompany me for today's session, however..."
"... Did Sebek do something wrong, Malleus-sama?"
"He had committed the same mistake you had done when I first brought you along with me, Silver."
"... Oh."
"Mm? And what sort of mistake was that?"
"Er... I mistook a grotesque for a gargoyle."
"That you did. Thrice. Sebek, however... had done so eight times."
"Oh, now that explains Sebek's current state. But aren't grotesques and gargoyles the same thing?"
"Lilia."
1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:
azul -> will doing so give me control? (see: ch3, pt24)
lilia -> fufu... no harm done. (pre-game)
jamil -> ... i swore i wouldn't hold back anymore. (post ch4)
malleus -> i believe i properly explained the differences...
HAVE YOU EVER KEPT AN UPSETTING TRUTH FROM SOMEONE?
ONE —
The black tea, Jade concludes, was delicious.
Such a pleasant aroma and a light aftertaste! He had placed two sugar cubes into his tea, but now that he went over his options and had taken a nice sip of the tea, perhaps he should've chosen honey as his sweetener. Ah, but then again, the taste may vary depending on how much tea leaves were used then how long were they steeped.
Hm.. was it polite to ask the brewer for can of tea leaves?
Jade lowers his tea cup to his saucer - it lands nicely without so much of a soft clink sound, then he raises his head to meet the eyes of his conversation partner.
Vil was drinking his own tea at the moment, face a perfect display of a neutral expression as his eyes went over the contract on the table. How lovely, the glow to Vil Schoenheit's face! Admittedly, Jade held little interest in beauty products or in the broad aspects of human beauty itself, but it was quite apparent that whatever Vil had been using on his face of the late was impressive.
Oh, whatever gave him that healthy sheen, that natural moisture to his skin that stayed long and true?
TWO —
How long had he been at it? He's unsure of that himself but he pressed on, eyes focused on the knife scratching along to wherever direction he wished.
Now how should he form that part? Should he remove a portion of this, then a portion of that? Or was taking off a chunk better? Did he need the skin over there? Maybe not... oh, but how much should he skin off? Wait, was that side supposed to be fully skinned...?
Man, this was way harder than he thought - must be the Seven's blessing that he hadn't cut himself yet.
Then the door to the art room swings open.
"Hey, Deuce, how's yo... what in tarnation!? What's with all the messed up pile of apples!?"
Deuce's shoulders jump at Epel's outburst and he lets out a scream himself, causing him to drop the item he so carefully held in his palm for the past hour - it lands to the floor with a thump and then it rolls over, right over to where Epel was standing.
Silence. Epel looks down at the floor, comes face to face with...
Deuce's sorry attempt of an apple carving. Of a rose.
"... Uh, oops?"
"Now yer just wastin' food!"
THREE —
What fills the silence in between them is the soft jingling of bells. These sounds come from their bracelets - Kalim wore one while his father wore three, Kalim's on his right arm and his father's on his left arm.
Father wore five bracelets when Kalim was younger. They represented each value the Asim family held dear, father had said. He mentioned all of them to a young Kalim, but what remained with the young Kalim was not the citrine shine of love, the radiant garnet of honesty, the morganite gleam of harmony, the glittering onyx of equity and the lustrous pyrite of faith. No, what he simply wanted was -
I wanna sound like that when I walk too!
And so his father parted with two bracelets, and Kalim found himself wearing them for some time, melodies of the bells following him every step of the way.
Until such time that two bracelets became only one bracelet when Kalim decided to give his other bracelet away, giving it to -
"Well, Kalim?" his father asks again, placing his wine flute down on the balcony's stone balustrade. "What had happened over winter break that you and Jamil were unable to come home?"
FOUR —
"Floyd Leech - do you have any experience in saving felines?"
It's past lunchtime, somewhere around quarter to two. Floyd was supposed to be in Animal Languages, classroom another building away. Instead, he's on one of the college's rooftops, and by rooftop it meant Floyd was lying down on the literal tiles of a tower spire, arms behind his head and legs splayed out without a care.
He was resting. Was. Until he decided to open his eyes and hey presto, there's Ortho! Hovering over him with eyes wide open and face just inches away from Floyd's own.
Wow. A couple of blinks. Ortho's eyes don't follow.
"Saving?" Floyd decides to say, still not moving from his spot.
Ortho nods, but makes no effort to move away either. "Yes! I would like some assistance in saving Lucius."
"Mm? But you can climb trees just fine, sea angel. Or y'know, you can just wreck 'em like you did to that apple tree."
"You misunderstand! Lucius isn't in that sort of predicament today! What Lucius needs is to be free from my brother this instant!"
Now that has Floyd raising an eyebrow. "From firefly squid?"
"Brother could be a far better fish than just a firefly squid!"
Floyd shoots his hands up, shoving Ortho's face from getting any closer. "Aah, get away already! What does firefly squid wanna do with the cat, anyway?!"
"Oh, horrible things! He wants to feed Lucius some premium tier snacks even though Professor Trein has been keeping Lucius on a diet for some time now, dress Lucius up in an array of outfits, squeeze each of Lucius' pink widdle paws till he's satisfied, and ..."
1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:
jade -> i certainly would like to avoid any trouble. (see: azul cere robes card)
Maybe if this were some manga panel, Ortho would have his eyes drawn really, really big - popping out with the veins and all that, as large as saucers. If this were a VN scene, then maybe Ortho's dialogue box would be filled with an 'EHHH!???' text or something similar - totally not skippable by the skip or force read option, voice line as long as the actual text.
"B-brother, you..."
Idia lets out a small laugh, grabs the can of soda on his desk and drinks. Well... this wasn't that bad. It could happen sometimes. Besides, there were others that did this for him too, when he started out. Why not return the favor?
"Did you seriously allow your character to be killed, brother!?"
"Hey, someone had to tank the boss' phase one and two states," Idia says, watching his party hack the boss to shreds while his character was... well, bleeding ungracefully on the corner. "Besides, they can handle this. That HP bar's going lower and lower, and - "
There's a bright flash of light, then suddenly a 'CONGRATULATIONS!' takes over the entirety of the screen, a gaudy display of gold text and colorful confetti.
"OH YEAH! CRIMSON MUSCLE RULES!"
TWO —
"... What's up with the door?"
Jack gestures to the tall door in front of them, its keyhole shaped small and round. As for a doorknob...
Well, there was no doorknob to speak of - just some large hole where a doorknob should be, theoretically.
"Ah, just some accident," Ruggie shrugs. Jack watches as he just slips in a hand through the hole - there's a loud groaning, some strange creaking sound, then the door swings itself open without problem.
Ruggie slips his hand off the hole, then struts into the dim room without a care - Jack simply follows his lead, a hand coming up to cover both his mouth and nose. The room was musty - guess both Ruggie and Leona weren't joking about the room not being aired out.
"Cabinet on the very left end, and... aha! Here we go - some blankets, pillows... think one's enough?"
"Uh... I don't know. Maybe two would do."
"Sounds right, Grim-kun looks a pillow hogger. Let's just add a smaller one too, and... yep, that's it. Beddings for our lodgers. All yours. Don't drop a thing."
"Thanks, senpai."
"Don't worry about the smell and everything. I'll give 'em a quick clean with magic before we hand them over."
"That's... generous of you."
"Heh, it's not everyday we get visitors in the dorm - might as well make them feel comfortable, right? Shishishi!"
THREE —
Thin streams of water dance about the magical gem - with a flick of the wrist they rush over to the blankets and pillows set on the table, lifting the objects up into the air. What were thin streams of water began to dance and swirl around to a rapid pace, spreading and expanding until they formed a watery orb that consumed the beddings whole.
Jack could only watch the display of magic with his mouth slightly agape, not tearing his eyes away for a second.
"By the way, Jack-kun," Ruggie says, voice sing-song as he waved his wrist back and forth like a conductor, the water's flow going along with his movements. "Why didn't you offer your room to Yuu-kun and Grim-kun instead?"
"Huuuh!?" there's the pitchy edge to Jack's response that has Ruggie snickering.
"Shishishi! I knew it - you didn't think of that, huh? Then again, you were actually expecting Leona-san to take those two in here without a fight earlier, too!"
Jack lets out a sigh, scratches the back of his head. "Well - I thought he wouldn't mind if it was those two... since we dragged them to all that trouble..."
"You mean the whole Magift tournament thing?" Ruggie hums. He points his magic pen to the center of the watery orb, then - boom! The water appears to have exploded, but it hadn't - it only separated itself to return to its simplest form, to the thin streams of water they used to be.
"... I guess."
"... Man, you really are a softy, aren't ya?"
"I am not!"
FOUR —
What used to be his spacious, empty couch was now lined with blankets and fluffed pillows.
Leona sighs at the sight, a hand coming up to massage his temple. By the Sevens - he was really gonna have some lodgers in his room for three whole days, huh?
"That's everything," Jack says, walking over to where Leona stood. "I'll call for Yuu and Grim now."
"... Whatever."
Leona leaned against the wall, crossing his arms against his chest. When Jack walked past him and was out the doorway, Leona calls out to him.
"Hey," Leona says, voice something low. "You said you were there when the herbivore made a contract with the octopunk."
"I was. What about it?"
"What did it look like? The contract."
"It was... a sheet of glowing yellow paper. It wasn't glowing because of its color or the lighting, though. It felt and smelled like... the paper was made of magic."
Leona hums.
"That so."
1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:
idia -> it's a party effort!
ruggie -> who'd pass up three days of free labor? (ch3)
The water that runs down the sink has a bright yellow hue.
Deuce sighs, watches everything go down the drain till only the small drops remain. He raises his head, stares at his own reflection in the bathroom's mirror.
Blue. Like his grandmother's. Like his mom's. The sight of it is familiar the same time it is not. He touches the ends, still dripping from his thorough rinsing. When was the last time he'd seen his own hair like this?
When was the last time he'd seen himself like this?
Another sigh, a reach for the scissors set aside on the sink. He might as well - taking care of long hair was starting to annoy him, anyway... and it might be better for his image. His new image.
New beginnings, and all that.
So he takes a portion of his hair with one hand, opens the scissors with the other, and then -
Snip!
TWO —
It looks nice, Cater decides.
He takes a few pics, gets about to choosing some nice filters to go with his shots. Hmm, maybe nothing too bright or glittery. A little blur? No, now that just looks like he took the pic in a rush. Some sharpness, a touch of a highlight? Oh, now that looks presentable!
"Not gonna eat that yet?"
Cater turns to the direction of the voice, to the person sitting on his left side - blonde hair, a heart drawn over his right eye. Ah. Weren't they of the same year?
"This stuff's delish, y'know," his seatmate says, stuffing his mouth with a forkful. He chews slowly, and with each chew he got he seemed to smile even wider. Cater simply laughed at the sight before turning to his own plate.
The slice of strawberry tart shone like a jewel before him. Brilliant with its glaze, sparkling with its fresh cream, alluring with its chocolate crust.
How absolutely sweet.
THREE —
The one manning the first three sections noticed him first.
Now the other ghosts are staring at him too. He's been going about one section from another, staring for some amount of time then moving onto the next section. Rinse, repeat. When it looks like he's actually about to pick something, he stops himself then starts looking around again.
Was this kid wishy-washy, or just a picky eater?
"Tough choices for lunch, kiddo?" the ghost manning the main course section speaks up, catching Silver's attention. "You've been goin' around n' still nothing's on yer plate."
"Oh...! I apologize for the inconvenience," Silver bows his head, scratches absentmindedly at his cheek. "It's just that there's a lot of choices... and every dish looks so different."
"Aw, don'tcha worry 'bout it. Der's tons like ya that get dazzled by all the food we serve 'ere at first. Why not grab what looks familiar? Ya can try some other meal anytime."
"... That's true. Thank you for the advice."
"Don't sweat it. C'mon then, time's a runnin', get that grub! Wanna try this beef? Or are ya more of a chicken guy? Pork's on this side, by the way. But if ya wanna eat light, then..."
.
"You're only having risotto for lunch, Silver?"
"I... had a hard time choosing, but this is enough, fa... er, Lilia-senpai," Silver shoots a small smile before before sitting down across from Lilia.
"If you're satisfied with just that, then it's alright, I suppose. But do remember that you can choose to have more food to eat next time," Lilia says, picking up his spoon and fork. "Now then - let's enjoy our meal, shall we?"
Silver nods - scooping up a portion of the risotto with his spoon, he blows on it for a moment before putting the spoon fully into his mouth.
A comforting warmth and a mild, delicate taste envelops his tongue.
FOUR —
"Aren't ya tired of cookin' all the time?"
Trey blinks at Grim, his stirring coming to a stop. The little thing's busy munching away on a basket of cookies - the leftovers from today's Unbirthday Party.
"If I were ya, I'd be dead tired making all this everyday," Grim continues, crumbs gathering around the fur of his cheeks. "Oh, but all this stuff's great, though!"
Cookie in paw, then munch, munch, crunch - Trey laughs, leaving the bowl of cream unattended for reaching out to the counter, taking hold of a napkin.
"Are you trying to dissuade me from cooking for the next party?" Trey asks, dabbing away at the stray crumbs on Grim. "I don't mind... but are you willing to take my place instead? I'm sure Riddle - and Heartslabyul wouldn't mind a new chef."
"Mya! Keep dreamin'! No way the Great Grim's just gonna cook for anyone - especially not for a whole dorm!"
"Haha, I thought so."
1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:
deuce -> i can't be like this any longer... (pre-game)
cater -> haha, hate's a pretty strong word... (pre-game)
"But what do I even write about?" Epel huffs, staring at the blank page on his desk. Well, for starters, tell them that he'd arrived safely. Tell them that the whole being stuffed in a coffin thing was school tradition. Describe how huge Night Raven College was. Maybe add a picture of him in ceremonial robes and... then what?
Should he write about how that Ace Trappola almost got him in trouble? Nope, they'd just worry. Should he tell them that he was sorted in Pomefiore...? He releases a long sigh, disappointment coming back all at once. The folks wouldn't get how much of a big deal that was for him, but he might as well just tell them anyway.
... Should he write about the Dorm Leader, too?
"... Ugh. Better to write about 'em apple trees at the courtyard," Epel scowls. He takes out his pen and edges his chair closer to the desk, then he starts writing. "I dunno when they'll be getting this... so might as well write a lot."
With that thought in mind, he writes well into the night.
TWO —
In the dead of the night, three heads pop out from the doorway. None of them make a move, but they're all looking at each other with varied levels of expectations.
Make that five - now it's too crowded with the addition of two people so someone falls, then the others follow. They form a heap on a ground, then the one who fell first begins to cry.
The four bouts of shushing at loud volumes are the last straw - Kalim blinks the sleep from his eyes, slowly rises up from his bed. Everything's a blur and his mind's still groggy, but crying - who was crying? What's going on?
"See! Now brother woke up!"
"Now our surprise's ruined!"
"It's your fault! You kept pushing us, and then all of us fell over!"
"Nuh-uh! You're just bein' mean - you pushed Bau and me first!"
"Waaaaaaaah! It huuurts! All of you are heavy!"
THREE —
There's all sorts of stuff scattered about his bed: a ziplock bag containing food, a first-aid kit, two shirts, two pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, a towel, a face towel, a trowel, a knife, a multi-tool, a rope - Jade goes through all these items slowly while humming a little tune, arranging each and every one of the items to fit in the large bag sitting on his bed.
Clothes rolled neatly to minimize the space they take and put into the larger compartment of the bag, same for the two towels. The tools are set aside on another compartment along with the rope, and of course the food takes a compartment of its own. Hm, maybe he should consider adding a little more food just in case? Some small snacks would do.
"Ah yes, how could I forget the water?"
Jade walks over to the desk and picks up his thermos - his eyes drift to the window for a moment, and all he sees outside is the calm night skies of the Octavinelle dorm.
"May the weather tomorrow be as pleasant as well," he says softly, then he goes back to work.
FOUR —
"I thought I told you to stop him...!"
"Ehh, but you made me wait tables and do the dishes in the Lounge! You should've watched Jade instead!"
"And you expected me to do that while I had consultations ongoing!? Ah, no matter... surely we can find another way..."
"Doubt it, he's almost got that hiking bag good to go. Can't stop him at this point."
"... Are you saying that you're willing to let Jade go on another hiking trip?"
"He alwaaays goes on one. He always plans at least three or four in a month. What's the big deal?"
"Unbelievable, your memory - the 'big deal' here, mind you, is that when Jade comes back from his trips..."
"What? Stop bein' all dramatic about it."
"... he tends to bring back a great assortment of not only herbs and plants - but also mushrooms."
"..."
"Now do you understand the gravity of the situation?"
1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:
epel -> them letters aren't writing themselves!
kalim -> oh, another sleepover? (pre-game)
jade -> one must be adequately prepared for a hiking trip.
azul -> i am not having a mushroom buffet again...!
And so he does, with just the wave of his fingers and a small yawn escaping him. He rubs his eyes for a moment before he takes a good look at what today's topic was, at what he would possibly nitpick for the next hour or -
Oh.
Lilia stares at the illustration taking up a good portion of the page. The caption below it says that the drawing was a hand-drawn account from the battlefield itself, and based on the strokes and smudges of their medium - charcoal, maybe - the artist had seen this scene in a hurry.
A daring effort rewarded well, perhaps. The rough scratches of charcoal gave a dynamic effect to the piece - gaze long enough, and the scene comes clear to life. Proud banners in tatters, waving dejectedly from where they hung. Clouds of smoke and dust scattered about by the winds and the constant rush of movement. Soldiers rushing forwards, horses galloping to the fray.
A general at the center of it all, leading the charge with an expression as cold as ice.
How nostalgic, Lilia smiles wryly.
TWO —
"Your marks in Astrology are as high as ever."
Cater laughs, flashes a peace sign towards Riddle. "'Course it is! It's my fav class, y'know?"
Riddle hums, setting the exam paper aside and taking another one from the desk. Leaning back on his chair a little, Cater settles for lifting his teacup up to his lips and taking small sips of tea at a time, sneaking glances at Riddle every once in a while.
Man. Studying for midterms was one thing, but having Riddle check out the results as soon as they were out... way more pressure! Not like Cater's grades were bad from the start, he'd been doing fine ever since he entered Night Raven...
But maybe they started to be better than average come his second year? Cater hums a bit to himself, tilting his head to the side. Was it the subject lineup? Second year topics were way better, afterall. But was that the only reason...?
"Good job this midterms," Riddle says, snapping Cater out of his reverie. "Your scores have always been showing steady improvement. Keep it up, and you won't have to worry about a failing grade."
... Oh, right. When it had been Cater's second year, Riddle had arrived in Night Raven College, had been sorted into Heartslabyul, and...
"Hehe, praise coming from our leader - now that's a good feeling!"
THREE —
If there was a word to describe him at his current state, it would be -
"You look horrible," Vil snaps, shaking his head. Rook simply laughs, running a hand through his hair. That was probably a wrong move on his part, now a good portion of his hair is streaked with mud, too. It does nothing to ease the frown on Vil's lips.
"Ah, Roi du Poison! Now what brings you to the sports field? Isn't your class supposed to be..."
" - conjuration, yes. However, we've been informed that it would be canceled due to the professor stepping out for an emergency," Vil hands over the towel in his hand, which Rook accepts. "And you? Explain how your PE class left you in this sorry state. Now."
"Ah, but where shall I begin? Today's class had been quite the thrilling encounter for a hunter such as myself, and recounting every moment of it brings such joy that I fear I cannot express simply through words! Truly merveilleux!"
"So you say, but flowers are already falling out of your mouth as we speak." Vil rolls his eyes. "I fail to see how being caked in mud gives you joy in the slightest."
"Oh, but it is merely part of the experience, Roi du Poison! Roi des Lions' countless attempts of trying to throw me into mud piles during the mock Magift game we held appeared to be simple acts of spite, yet they have served well as distractions for my attention! To think that for the entirety of the game, he focused majority of his efforts to keep me occupied! Such l'astuce!"
"Huh. And here I thought he'd do much worse than mud slinging, seeing as he despises you."
"Perhaps he would have, if not for Coach Vargas keeping a keen eye on us both! Oh, what I would give to battle Roi des Lions head on..."
FOUR —
"Oh, have you already recovered from your cold?"
"Good morning, Lilia. Yeah, I'm glad it didn't take me long to sweat it out."
"Ah yes, having a cold for an extended period of time can be quite troubling, isn't it? All the sniffling can wear one out so fast! It's a good thing Riddle had taken the initiative to make you something that would rid you of your cold, hm? Such a kind gesture."
"It surprised me that Riddle actually cooked, but... how do you know that he made me something, Lilia?"
"Simple - I was the one who helped him make the soup! Well? What did you think? It worked wonders, did it not? Every drop warms you up to your very core!"
"...! O-oh... y-you helped him, huh... Now that explains a lot..."
"Hm? What was that?"
"Er, nothing. I was thinking that the soup had a... very unique flavor to it."
"That's to be expected - we did make use of my recipe, after all! It's a Valley of Thorns special. I could teach it to you too, if you'd like."
"Your recipe, haha... Well... If you're offering, then sure. Maybe if you catch a cold one of these days, I can whip your soup right up if you want. Exactly how you'd like it."
"Ho! That's not likely to happen anytime soon, but it's nice of you to offer!"
1: trey reappears for this batch! here's everyone's context:
lilia -> everything and nothing all at once.
cater -> neck's still intact!
rook -> tout de moi, merci! (all of me, thank you!)
trey -> my stomach's alright... i guess. (see: riddle lab coat card)
Choose, his grandmother's voice demands, the sharp edge of her voice still echoing clearly in his ears. Malleus lets out a sigh, leaning back against his chair. After a moment of keeping his eyes closed, he rises to his feet and leaves his room; leaves a scattered chessboard as it was on his desk.
He has always found it quite odd how the castle was at its darkest when the dawn was about to fall. The drapes do not seem to match the windows well and obstruct completely whatever light comes to pass through, the shadows of the pillars were looming and ominous. The gleam of the lanterns are an unflattering green that create a gloom about the corners of the halls, and they create odd silhouettes about the hung tapestries and paintings.
He stares at one odd occurence in the eyes right now - there are two people in the painting, one his grandmother at her younger years and the other a human. In between them, a desk and a treaty; one that has been upheld for centuries now. Malleus finds his gaze drawn to the human's profile, to a smile that looked crooked from where he stands. To the eyes that looked dead against the light.
Choose, his grandmother's voice rings again, and he frowns. Was it impossible for both values to stand together? Must one be chosen over the other? Is one worth sacrificing just to attain the other? If then, what did his grandmother choose? Was there no other way? What did she value over the other? Did she lose anything upon making her choice?
Did she ever regret making her choice?
The dawn was nearing, and he is no closer to forming a solid answer.
TWO —
You are human, the fae had told him. It has never crossed his mind why most of them look at him with narrowed or wide eyes, but it is only when he is old enough does he realize the little things.
You are human, father had told him. That's what father said and yet father still called him child, or son. Father still doted on him in all the odd ways, still trained him and taught him and watched over him as he grew up. Father was a fae, that much was obvious by just taking a glance. Meanwhile, he was human. Fae and human, father and son.
You are human, the fairy queen had told him when she had requested his presence. She had been smiling when she said that, but yet her eyes appeared to be sad. What made her look at him that way, he wished to ask, but she was not done speaking.
Would you forsake your kind for the other?
Silver's gaze remained rooted to the stone floor by the queen's feet.
You are human, the fae had told him, and yet they let him live his years in the Valley of Thorns.
You are human, father had told him, and yet he raised and trained him no different than he would a fae.
You are human, the fairy queen had told him, and yet she allowed him to stand by the crown prince's side as an aide.
But —
Would you forsake your kind for the other?
THREE —
He was fortunate to be able to spar with someone of the Royal Guard, once.
The weaving of his swordplay, the display of his magic, the swiftness of his footwork - all aspects of his opponent's skillset were vastly different from Master Lilia's. Then again, that was to be expected - Master Lilia was on a league of his own when it came to military prowess.
Sebek had lost that day, and that was also to be expected... if he was to be honest. A silver lining to the defeat however, was that man he sparred with was swift and honest with his feedback. He scolds Sebek for the faults in his posture halfway through their match, reprimands Sebek for prioritzing offensive stances over defensive ones, lectures Sebek about proper timing in utilizing magic during a battle.
But most of all, he corrects the manner in which Sebek held his sword.
"We of the Royal Guard do not wield a weapon nor magic with the intent to defeat," the man says, face stern. "You fight to protect, yes. You fight in the stead of others that cannot, yes. But remember that before anything else, you fight to serve."
The man picks up Sebek's sword.
"Seek always the path and purpose that will make you live another day."
FOUR —
"Say, Clover..."
Since when was someone standing in front of him? Trey blinks, looks at the person who had spoken to him. A fellow third year, with a heart drawn over his eye.
"Sorry, I was lost in thought there," Trey laughs, before easing his face into a smile. "What's up?"
"... You knew, didn't you? About the freshman."
... Ah. Trey closes his eyes and his expression falls.
"It wasn't him - it wasn't him!"
9:54 AM. Six minutes left till the party begins. A freshman's on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks and fingers tugging hopelessly on one end of Trey's vest. The two others with him just stand there, beginning to sniffle a bit themselves.
"We're the ones who broke Rule 308! Not him, not him! He's going to be collared, I'm sure!"
They're in the kitchens. A run to the Garden from here would at best take five minutes. By then, it would probably be...
"Please, Vice Dorm Leader - help him!"
1: silver reappears for this batch! here's everyone's context:
malleus -> must there be a choice? (pre-game, younger years)
silver -> can i not choose both? (pre-game)
sebek -> if peace means i can serve longer, then... (pre-game)
trey -> ... peace should always come first. (pre-game)
Silver is softly snoring in his chair. He has been for a good hour or so. The controller in his hands seems like it's going to slip off from his fingers, but it doesn't.
The water jug and the cups are empty, and so is the bag of chips on the table.
It is 1:38 AM, the clock on his bedside table reads.
All that and yet Lilia continues to stare at his monitor, a deep frown furrowing his brow. Should he, or should he not? Was it worth it, or should he abstain? Decisions, decisions - how is that making such a simple choice felt so dire? And why is it that as soon as the decision was made with just a push of a button, the consequences make themselves known to you immediately?
Lilia lets out a long exhale. He stares again, stares longer, stares some more; until he takes hold of his controller, and -
「 Do you wish to perform a 10-pull? 」
A signature weapon should belong to its rightful owner!
With that thought in mind, Lilia clicks the 「 YES 」 button.
Lilia squeals as soon as the deed was done, watching the screen shift from a menu to a sky; turning darker and darker until fireworks suddenly burst forth from the darkness, exploding in colors of blues and greens and reds.
"Oooh, here it comes!"
TWO —
"Changin' out of my PE uniform now's a hassle... Hafta get back to the dorm first, then..."
"Oh, mon dieu! Monsieur Cherry Apple, that's quite a bruise you're sporting on your arm!"
Epel yelps, a few expletives running out of his mouth. Thank Sevens, it wasn't Vil. But at the same time, did it have to be Rook?
"Ah... Um, it was a lab accident!" Epel says when he turns around to face his Vice Dorm Leader. "Something spilled on me, and..."
Rook let out a laugh as he strode forward and took hold of Epel's left arm, studying the angry skin of the wrist going down to the forearm. Terrible to look at, yes, but at least there was no bleeding. "An accident! I see, I see. I say, this was quite a mishap. Did a cat perhaps, spill whatever caused this bruising on your delicate skin?"
The man was smiling, but there was a sharper edge to his eyes that made Epel squirm. Darn. Did he know? Is that why he suddenly mentioned a cat? He probably did, and this was why everyone in Pomefiore recommended not to bother lying to Rook. But really, how did he know? Wasn't he in the Science club? Wasn't the Alchemy Lab far away from the Sports Field? Was he bluffing? Should Epel take his chances?
"N-no, I spilled it on myself - I wasn't watching where I was going, a-and..."
THREE —
"... Ya think he'll be okay?"
The ghost chefs glance at each other, whispering in some corner of the kitchen with their backs turned.
"Think so. He prepped the meat without nodding off."
"Yeah, but wasn't he about to when he was peeling 'em carrots 'n potatoes?"
"He nearly hit his head on the counter and woke up. He was good after that. You sure he added the demi-glace?"
"Y-ep. Ya can smell it from here."
That was true - a pleasant, savory smell had been slowly starting to envelop the kitchen for about five minutes already, so maybe everything was fine. Silver was doing good as a student: took to instructions well, knew his way around a kitchen, listened to feedback.
However...
One of the chefs turn around, towards Silver's direction - and promptly shrieks.
"Heeeeeeeey! Don't ya fall asleep while stirring ya stew! That pot's wide enough for ya pretty head to dunk in, y'know!"
FOUR —
As he's being led away by the Headmaster shortly after his overblot, the first place he's sure he'd end up in was the office. Imagine that, a Dorm Leader allowing himself to fly into a rampage, laying waste to his own dorm, and endangering the lives of his members! What punishment would the Headmaster sanction for such a shameful display? What would the whole of Heartslabyul make of him now? Was there still a place for him in Night Raven College after all he had done?
... What would mother, Sevens forbid, do if she knew?
Riddle shudders, vision going blurry for a second. A wave of weakness takes over his body, crashing deeper in his legs and keeping him in place.
"Rosehearts-kun."
The headmaster is calling his attention. He has to respond. Yet the words seem to die at his throat.
"Don't fear, now," Crowley says, "do raise your head."
There's a softness to the headmaster's voice that has him doing exactly what he was told, and what he sees immediately are touches of white. Curtains, pillows, sheets. All white. He looks around some more, and recognition comes to him. The infirmary.
Weren't they headed to the Headmaster's office?
"I think we're both aware of how urgent it is to discuss the events that had transpired," Crowley continues, one hand of his on Riddle's back and gently pushing him to move forward. He follows without resistance, and soon he stands in front of one of the beds. "However! I would be a failure as a headmaster if I allow you to carry on like this! Do get some rest first, then we shall deal with everything one step at a time. Understood?"
"... But headmaster, I..."
"I'd appreciate if you would thank me for my benevolence instead," Crowley smiles, the hand on Riddle's back now patting his shoulder. "You've gone through a lot today, and whether you believe it or not, you deserve to get some rest. I say this not only for your sake, but also for those who are waiting for your return."
Riddle closes his eyes and swallows thickly, the faces of his many dorm members a clear picture in his mind.
"... Thank you very much."
"Ah, now that's a good response!"
1: epel reappears for this batch! here's everyone's context:
lilia -> a touch daring!
epel -> sweating buckets over here!
silver -> ... so warm. so comfortable... (masterchef, riddle + silver ver.)
What humans only knew to do was to keep themselves at an arm's length from his direction and to whisper behind his back. Sebek has heard enough variations of their dialogues, more than he can count over the years. More often than not they speak his name out of awe rather than reverence, of disbelief rather than fondness.
What Sebek would give to have a word with those who call him names behind his back, to those who dared to show him great disrespect! They knew nothing, nothing! If he was anything like the names they called him, did the humans think that they would get away with just letting his name pass their lips? If he was anything like the names they called him, did the humans think that they would be fortunate enough to cross paths with him without consequence?
It was the humans who were more terrifying than he was, with their sliver tongues and ambitious natures.
What do they even know of him, to begin with?
TWO —
To begin: do you see that young man whose temper was in proportion to his height? Ah, but do not dare say that to his face, lest you wish to taste firsthand his power - it is greater than his stature belies, and his control far greater than you'd expect someone of his age to wield!
Then observe that young man with a brimmed hat resting atop his silver hair, dressed smartly in a suit with a pair of glasses to complete his ensemble - he presents himself to be most benevolent, but will you still believe so when you are roped to a contract beyond your control and to his whims? Oh, mon dieu! How quick is he to have you dancing on the palm of his hand!
Ah, then take a look over there, at the man who slips away to sleep his hours away - quite indolent, you say! Watch yourself, as predators have sharp ears, and even sharper teeth - are you daring enough to provoke one that unassumingly leads a herd, not simply though his strength but through ruthless wit? Take care not to mistake his drowsiness for ignorance!
He didn't come to this bigshot magic college for this, for any of this! So what if there were all sorts of spoons and forks and knives and glasses and all that? Does he seriously need to use all that stuff to just enjoy some mere serving of greens drizzled with some weird tasting sauce? Does he really need to chop his meat into proper squares and eat it as slowly as possible even if he was already starving? Did he really need to pick the proper glass to pour water or juice in even if he was already damned thirsty?
None of this would be helpful back at home - where's the use of all that sitting pretty in the orchard, in the fields? Nowhere, that's what. What he needed was to become stronger, to be more useful - not to be the best mannered lad in the dining table! What would his folks even say if they saw him now? They'd be laughing their heads off till no tomorrow!
He should go - drop and the knife and walk away, this wasn't worth any of his time. He should skip all that beauty routine in the evening, too - maybe in those whole thirty minutes, he could've read something helpful. Done something worth doing.
Epel grips the knife tighter in hand.
FOUR —
Welcome back, Master Idia and magicial humanoid Ortho.
There's a whole bunch of them standing in front of him once he lands, each and every one of them wearing the same old armors and the same old mechanical voices. Idia lets out a sigh when he walks past them, muttering under his breath as he made his way through the corridor.
"Should seriously consider installing a voice mod," Idia says, "maybe that will make me feel better about being greeted."
"Do you want one of the Moirai's voices to be installed?" Ortho quips, floating just a few steps behind his older brother. Upon mentioning Moirai, Idia's shoulders jump.
"Yes! I mean! No, no, mega no. Like... Ferrymen having the goddesses' voices? I'd get total whiplash..."
Idia sneaks a look behind them - the Ferrymen follow them at a distance, lined up in a tightly knit row with their weapons still in their arms. He snorts, shakes his head and keeps walking forward.
That's the only path available to him and Ortho, anyways.
"Still on zero escape mode, huh... So much for calling me master."
1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:
sebek -> if they must call him a monster, then he would be the greatest one that the world would ever know.
