Pawn No Longer

Mareeta, Blue Lions Teacher with The Officer's Academy

[bladespromotedpawn]

Fun Fun Fun

[bladespromotedpawn]

"Heh, gotcha!"

Mareeta knew quite a few of her colleagues were not a fan of whatever was happening.

Did she care all too much?

Not really.

This was nostalgic.

Before mercenary work, before sword possessions, before losing it all and before she earned it all back again.

Back when it just her and Nanna giggling as the two hosted Eyvel's sword overhead and stashed it in one of the cupboards.

Back when she could do whatever she wanted and laugh it off, and the other would let her.

It was empowering.

Super empowering.

"Tell your boss to provide some incentives if they want this blade getting your foe's sides instead~"

How many factions were there in the prank war?

No clue.

She would serve the highest bidder in this thing. She racked up some nice IOUs she planned to cash in when this all wound up done, and she got to get some fun stuff done. Win-win!

"Now then..."

OK, what next...

Could she snatch up the training weapons and replace them with painted sticks?

Barely anything would change.

Eh, that means no harm.

Her 'perfect mercenary' status was probably being heavily undermined through this, but... fuck it. She already did this sort of stuff to her apprentices for practice in 'unexpected circumstances,' not too much different here, and this lets her keep an eye to make sure no one is injured doing this.

"...I can feel your gaze, you know. Need something from the Blade of Fiana?"

This could be a student seeking her out for actual school stuff, but there wasn't jack she was doing right now, and most of her students held it in an open secret.

She was having fun. Let her have this.

"If you're here for... current events, I suggest you make it worth my while. I was offered a week's worth of first dibs on dinner from the kitchen staff, so you're going to need to do better than that~"

...She was having way too much fun with this. But hey - getting in character was fun.

@silviapirouette

[bladespromotedpawn]

∗ 63﹕ sender is found by receiver sleeping in receiver’s bed . (🥹)

"Another day done perfectly."

Which ones weren't, though?

...A couple. But that was neither here nor now.

"..."

She hears the sound before she opens the door. Snoring.

At first, she supposes it's someone who doesn't deserve it. A crook, who got swaddled in her blankets.

But she recognizes that voice. Kinda.

"...Welp."

She should report it to someone higher up, she supposes, but as soon as she thinks it, the thought is driven from her mind?

He deserves some rest. Her bed's stupid good, anyhow.

"...Rest up, Karel."

She opens the door, and slips into her room quietly, grabbing her pen as she pulls her chair from her desk over to her bedside.

...

He looked peaceful as he rested. That was a new look on him.

She wished she could see it more often.

Still, Mareeta writes, practice notes, preparatory plans for her upcoming classes, anything, everything.

Having another person in her room, even asleep, helps boost her words, it feels.

"...I am gonna ask how he got in, though, when he wakes up."

She was, like, 95% sure she locked the door before she left.

[bladespromotedpawn]

84[for the nonverbal prompt feels odd Tine handnt interacted with your jugdral muse even if they dont know eachother...]

∗ 84﹕ sender  accidentally  injures  receiver  during  sparring.

"Keep it up!"

Mareeta knew that home was wherever she made it. Be it Fiana, whatever bar she claimed for her work, whatever.

Now? Garreg Mach was home. And that meant past homes mingled too.

"You're doing good - but don't get too comfortable!"

Tine was smart. She seemed an intelligent student. And she had a knack for bringing down a metric crap-ton of electricity in any practice she attended.

So, Mareeta found it a bit of a fun challenge to bring out her Levin Sword for practice like this. Let her bring some of that thunder back in her direction.

"Because I'm not letting you off easily-"

Grey eyes widen as lightning arcs across the field, madly dashing for her sword hand.

Unfortunately, as Mareeta had yet to learn, her Levin Sword was extremely good at taking electricity. She supposed it made sense, what with how it conducted it when up close.

"Gah!"

She steps back, weapon falling from her hand as she closes her eyes...

And chuckles.

"Good blow. Think that'll be practice. You did good, Tine."

...She needs to learn a proper counter to that one of these days. Maybe she can conduct the lightning into the blade to supercharge it... eh. That's for future Mareeta to think about.

[ohisms]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 .    (  a  collection  of  100  nonverbal  action  prompts .   mature  and  potentially  triggering  themes  are  present .   add  “ + reverse ”  to  swap  assigned  roles .)

∗ o1﹕ sender  tucks  hair  out  of  receiver’s  face . ∗ o2﹕ sender  offers  receiver  a  bite  from  their  fork . ∗ o3﹕ sender  places  their  feet / legs  in  receiver's  lap . ∗ o4﹕ sender  offers  receiver  an  earbud  to  share  their  music . ∗ o5﹕ sender  comforts  receiver  in  the  aftermath  of  a  nightmare . ∗ o6﹕ sender  gives  receiver  company  in  the  hospital . ∗ o7﹕ sender  wraps  their  arms  around  a  hysterical  receiver  to  calm  them . ∗ o8﹕ sender  shows  up  at  receiver’s  home  late  at  night . ∗ o9﹕ sender  falls  asleep  leaning  against  receiver . ∗ 1o﹕ sender  wields  a  [ gun / knife ]  at  receiver . ∗ 11﹕ sender  runs  their  fingers  through  receiver’s  hair . ∗ 12﹕ sender  invites  receiver  to  dance . ∗ 13﹕ sender  takes  a  [ picture / video ]  of  receiver . ∗ 14﹕ sender  places  their  head  in  receiver’s  lap . ∗ 15﹕ sender  and  receiver  make  eye  contact  across  a  busy  room . ∗ 16﹕ sender  pushes  receiver  against  a  wall  to  kiss  them . ∗ 17﹕ sender  and  receiver  cook  together . ∗ 18﹕ sender  comes  to  receiver  after  being  injured . ∗ 19﹕ sender  sits  in  receiver’s  lap . ∗ 2o﹕ sender  lifts  receiver's  chin ,  invoking  eye  contact . ∗ 21﹕ sender  overtakes  receiver  in  combat . ∗ 22﹕ sender  finds  receiver  [ injured / bloodied ] . ∗ 23﹕ sender  straightens  an  article  of  receiver’s  clothes . ∗ 24﹕ sender  crawls  into  bed  with  receiver . ∗ 25﹕ sender  rolls  their  eyes  at  receiver . ∗ 26﹕ sender  lights  receiver’s  [ cigarette / joint ] . ∗ 27﹕ sender  is  caught  wearing  receiver's  clothes . ∗ 28﹕ sender  strikes  receiver  with  a  pillow . ∗ 29﹕ sender  writes  a  note  on  receiver’s  skin :  [ note ] . ∗ 3o﹕ sender  wraps  a  blanket  around  receiver’s  shoulders . ∗ 31﹕ sender  runs  and  jumps  into  receiver’s  arms . ∗ 32﹕ sender  shoves  receiver  out  of  anger . ∗ 33﹕ sender  hovers  over  receiver’s  shoulder  as  they  complete  a  task . ∗ 34﹕ sender  is  found  by  receiver  somewhere  they  shouldn’t  be . ∗ 35﹕ sender  curls  up  against  receiver  in  their  sleep . ∗ 36﹕ sender  is  found  drunk  by  receiver . ∗ 37﹕ sender  throws  an  item  of  sentiment  bitterly  at  receiver . ∗ 38﹕ sender  joins  receiver  in  the  shower . ∗ 39﹕ sender  is  caught  following  receiver . ∗ 4o﹕ sender  traces  one  of  receiver’s  [ scars / bruises ] . ∗ 41﹕ sender  twines  their  fingers  with  receiver’s . ∗ 42﹕ sender  barges  into  receiver’s  home  unannounced . ∗ 43﹕ sender  kicks  receiver’s  shin  beneath  a  table . ∗ 44﹕ sender  aggressively  shoves  past  receiver . ∗ 45﹕ sender  kisses  receiver’s  [ forehead / cheek ] . ∗ 46﹕ sender  pulls  receiver  out  of  harm’s  way . ∗ 47﹕ sender  is  found  sobbing  by  receiver . ∗ 48﹕ sender  locks  receiver  out  of  their  room . ∗ 49﹕ sender  brings  receiver  [ coffee / tea ]  in  the  morning . ∗ 5o﹕ sender  rests  their  forehead  against  receiver’s . ∗ 51﹕ sender  plays  a  song  for  receiver  that  reminds  them  of  them :  [ song ] . ∗ 52﹕ sender  takes  a  [ punch / stab / bullet ]  meant  for  receiver . ∗ 53﹕ sender  buys  receiver  a  drink  at  a  bar . ∗ 54﹕ sender  needs  receiver’s  help  getting  in  the  bath . ∗ 55﹕ sender  and  receiver  cross  paths  in  the  kitchen  late  at  night . ∗ 56﹕ sender  twists  receiver’s  arm  behind  their  back . ∗ 57﹕ sender  winks  at  receiver . ∗ 58﹕ sender  is  found  collapsed  by  receiver . ∗ 59﹕ sender  prevents  an  injured  receiver  from  getting  up . ∗ 6o﹕ sender  claps  a  hand  over  receiver’s  mouth  to  silence  them . ∗ 61﹕ sender  cages  receiver  against  a  [ wall / the floor ]  with  their  arms . ∗ 62﹕ sender  storms  away  from  receiver  during  an  argument . ∗ 63﹕ sender  is  found  by  receiver  sleeping  in  receiver’s  bed . ∗ 64﹕ sender  [ applies / touches up ]  receiver’s  makeup . ∗ 65﹕ sender  throws  receiver  into  a  wall  during  combat . ∗ 66﹕ sender  dances  sensually  with  receiver . ∗ 67﹕ sender  strikes  receiver  across  the  face . ∗ 68﹕ sender  places  their  hand  on  receiver’s  leg  while  driving . ∗ 69﹕ sender  pulls  a  chair  out  from  under  receiver . ∗ 7o﹕ sender  catches  receiver’s  wrist  when  they  turn  to  leave . ∗ 71﹕ sender  leaves  an  intimate  mark  on  receiver . ∗ 72﹕ sender  beats  receiver  in  a  video  game . ∗ 73﹕ sender  and  receiver  stand  in  stunned  silence  after  a  fight . ∗ 74﹕ sender  cares  for  receiver  while  they’re  sick . ∗ 75﹕ sender  and  receiver  go  on  a  hike . ∗ 76﹕ sender  is  caught  snooping  in  receiver’s  things . ∗ 77﹕ sender  and  receiver  cuddle  while  watching  television . ∗ 78﹕ sender  throws  something  aggressively  at  receiver . ∗ 79﹕ sender  creeps  up  behind  receiver  to  scare  them . ∗ 8o﹕ sender  and  receiver  go  shopping  together . ∗ 81﹕ sender  helps  receiver  [ dye / style ]  their  hair . ∗ 82﹕ sender  draws  receiver  into  a  kiss  by  the  back  of  their  neck . ∗ 83﹕ sender  is  discovered  having  a  panic  attack  by  receiver . ∗ 84﹕ sender  accidentally  injures  receiver  during  sparring . ∗ 85﹕ sender  grabs  receiver  roughly  by  the  hair . ∗ 86﹕ sender  brings  receiver  to  their  knees  during  combat . ∗ 87﹕ sender  shows  receiver  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ∗ 88﹕ sender  winks  [ seductively / mockingly ]  at  receiver . ∗ 89﹕ sender  yells  at  receiver  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air . ∗ 9o﹕ sender  helps  receiver  patch  up  a  wound . ∗ 91﹕ sender  holds  receiver  as  they  cry . ∗ 92﹕ sender  silently  and  angrily  points  receiver  towards  the  door . ∗ 93﹕ sender  gestures  for  receiver  to  sit  down . ∗ 94﹕ sender  pulls  receiver  into  their  lap . ∗ 95﹕ sender  cradles  receiver’s  face . ∗ 96﹕ sender  tackles  receiver  out  of  the  way  of  danger . ∗ 97﹕ sender  has  hidden  an  injury  from  receiver ,  and  receiver  finds  out . ∗ 98﹕ sender  confronts  receiver  about  their  unhealthy  behavior . ∗ 99﹕ sender  proposes  to  receiver . ∗ 1oo﹕ sender  has  just  died ,  receiver  finds  out .

[bladespromotedpawn]

Holding Out for a Hero

[astrasword]

It's not that Ayra expected her great-niece would take this well, but 'better than Shannan himself' is too much even so. Her brows raise high, although she lets Mareeta go on without comment. For now, anyway.

Her first instinct is, of course, to call the girl out on the ridiculousness of such a statement. To bluntly assert that she knows their family tree, past and present, like the back of her hand.

Yet even Ayra, for all her sharpness, can see this reaction for what it is: Denial, pure and simple. Bluntness is unlikely to do the girl much good, but she knows no other way to be. If there's one thing she does know, though, it's their sword art.

"I think not," she answers to the question of sparring, and stabs her own blade into the soil for the time being. "Not yet, at least."

Without further ado she closes the distance between them, firmly gripping her great-niece by the shoulders and looking her in the eye.

"Listen to me, Mareeta. That man did not teach you Astra — certainly not better than Shannan — and this is a good thing. A great thing, even. It means you unlocked Astra yourself, with your own power. Your belief in your mentor helped at the time, I'm sure, but it is yourself you ought to believe in and to credit for this."

[bladespromotedpawn]

"..."

Mareeta places a hand of her own on Ayra's cheek, face sinking as she thinks back, back to when she was alone, when she was first picking up her first apprentice.

"C'mon, you can do it. Just believe in yourself. Heart and Blade. You can do it. Come on."

Eager coaxing came from her mouth as she looked down at her apprentice, one of the best swordsmen she knew, struggling, failing, again and again to get the stars of Astra to shine in his blade.

"I'm... giving it all it has, Mareeta..."

She knows he can do it.

He can do it.

She could do it.

So should he.

"..."

Daggers burst from her past, embedding themselves in her mind.

She did everything she did to become perfect. Pushed herself to her limits, surpassed them, then started pushing up against the next set of boundaries all over again.

She was perfect.

But she BECAME perfect.

She forged herself in trials, skilled as she could become.

"He taught me."

She refutes it, simple as, the daggers in her mind coming out in her glare, grey eyes overcast as her blade sparks green in her grip, hand itching, begging to get her frustrations out.

"I am who I am from who I learned from. I am perfect because of them. And it doesn't matter who or what they are. They taught me. He taught me."

She came from plenty, though that life of hers was long lost.

She made herself from the missing pieces she lost. She would never be a noble, posh, proprietary, pimp and proper. She was rough, she was a mercenary. She was her people's warrior. And she was a warrior anyone could become.

"Now. Are. We. Sparring?"

She knew nightfall would bring no succor for the pain now eating at her mind. But she needs to let it out.

Or she is going to aim this pain somewhere far worse, internally.

[bladespromotedpawn]

Nightskating Deserves a Quiet Night

[bladespromotedpawn]

She had thought it seemed like stupid, silly fun when she first heard some of her students talking after class.

"Can you imagine seeing Ms. Battle Butt down on the ice?"

First thing that it evoked from her was... well, a laugh at the nickname. It was cute, in a way.

But it also sparked the light of competition in her.

And she spent almost all evening on the ice as a result, practicing, perfecting each and every motion.

She was never the most graceful fighter. Sure, swinging her blade with Astra alight around her was a beauty to behold, she had been told.

But on the move like this? It took a moment to get used to, but once she did...

It was like the feeling when she first got good at swinging her sword.

The hours passed, and the sun began to descend, painting the lowly lit solitary battlefield of herself against no one in violets and maroon.

And she loved it.

It was more subdued compared to swordplay. Less concern about being the best, more of just...

Enjoying herself in the moment.

"..."

Feeling the soft pinprick of eyes on her back as she rests against what was usually the swimming dock, looking up above her to see a familiar face from those bunker days.

Ones she mostly attempted to forget, were it not for the friends she made.

And though Elise had been too preoccupied to properly patch up the wound in her chest... none of the other medics who had many more years on her could get her fighting fit for months.

"Hey there, up there."

Teacher's duty tells her to tell Elise to skedaddle, what with curfew approaching so close, but... she couldn't care less.

"If you have the stuff, come on down. I won't judge if it takes you a bit - Gods know how many time some of my other students did."

She reaches back, pulling herself up backwards onto the hardwood, flashing Elise a small smirk.

"And if you need to stay warm... I can lend you a scarf."

@nohrslittleflower

[princeofopenness]

Unhinged and Unfettered

Faith +1 || Berserk @bladespromotedpawn

[princeofopenness]

“I don’t know why I’m saying this like you’ve seen the past me,” was a sentence that sent a shiver down Alfonse’s spine, one he would struggle to actually explain to Mareeta if the need arose. It was so close to the truth of the matter that he worried for just a moment that perhaps she knew a bit more than she was letting on, that she had surmised Alfonse had extraordinary knowledge indeed. There was little reason to suspect she had, of course. Even Mareeta herself had inadvertently acknowledged that it was a somewhat irrational thing to assume. It seemed more like she was leaning away from that assumption, but it shook Alfonse all the same. He needed to tread a little more carefully.

She wouldn’t know that he had indeed met previous versions of her. He had seen the bloodthirsty Mareeta driven to unrestrained violence by the blade she wielded. He knew the damage that could be wrought by her hand. She was a force to be reckoned with when she put her mind to it… or when her mind was put to it by force. Alfonse had little doubt that she hoped just as much as him (if not more) that they would never see that Mareeta rear her head ever again, but it meant, if nothing else, that she had every reason to be shaken by what she had seen today.

“You, a troublemaker?” Alfonse scoffed, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “I find that hard to believe. You seem so… put-together, I suppose? Very rule-abiding. I wouldn’t imagine you as the sort to play pranks on others.”

He could imagine her doing a lot of things wrong, actually, but harmless pranks they certainly were not. Even as he spoke, Alfonse kept a few feet of distance in between them just on the off chance that someone still had one of those berserk staves in hand. If either of them were caught in its grasp by surprise, he wouldn’t want to be within arm’s reach of Mareeta when it happened. Of course, it was every bit as likely that he would be the one lashing out if such a thing occurred, but Líf notwithstanding, Alfonse hadn’t seen a version of him that was quite so violent. He hadn’t seen a version of himself that he truly feared yet.

[bladespromotedpawn]

"That's what almost a decade of mercenary work will do. I wasn't this current way I am back in Fiana. But that was..."

Gods, that was so long ago now. Before everything. Before...

"Ages ago. My styles have been refined, perfected since."

...Mostly. She still held a bit of mischievous whimsy in her heart for those she enjoyed, but... let her have this.

"If you knew me back before I set out on my own, or when I just had, you would've seen the mischief I could rack up. But, of course, you couldn't have."

Mareeta shakes her head, softly chuckling, mostly trying to make light of the situation, both for him... and herself.

She caught the shiver he first gave off, but she waves it off internally. Time is wonky here. Maybe this is someone who she could've met. But she hadn't. He seemed a good enough lad, at any rate.

"Regardless, let's keep going. We have a couple of rounds to make, I bet, so... we need to make this round quick. No time to lose."

She may not be able to aid them directly, to mend the shattered psyche that drives her students to madness...

But she has one thing she can do. So she will try her absolute best to handle what she can.

[bladespromotedpawn]

Holding Out for a Hero

[astrasword]

"I thought you would say that."

Hoped is perhaps closer to the truth, because for all that the girl clearly has a passion for the sword Ayra doesn't know her. She's glad to have been right either way: Whether this eagerness for battle was instilled into her by the mercenary that raised her or simply ran in her blood, Mareeta's response is Isaachian through and through.

Her great-aunt can't hold back a laugh upon hearing it, for all that such openness ill-suits her... They are family, no matter how many years lay between them or how impossible this reunion is, and she has always prized her family (by blood or bond) above all else.

While she watches Mareeta spin her sword that bark of laughter shifts to a smile, equal parts proud and sharp, though it dulls when the girl answers her question.

She stares, unembarrassed despite having been caught off-guard — mentioning Shannan of all people would do that — while she wonders what on earth took her nephew to Thracia. The army never went there as far as she knows, and he'd have known better than to seek Balmung where his father never set foot. Then, perhaps...

... Ah. Near two years have passed since that Day of the Crusaders and young Nanna treated the matter of a false king so lightly that it slipped Ayra's mind until now. The pieces fall into place just as her great-niece speaks up again and she smiles ruefully.

"Not at all," she assures. "It is only that - I hate to break this to you, but the man who taught you was an impostor. 'Twas Lady Nanna who told me this, having met him firsthand. Most likely he does not have any Holy Blood at all, and even if he does it is certainly not Od's."

[bladespromotedpawn]

"..."

Mareeta stays silent, pausing in thought for a moment, hand resting on the training room door.

"...He still taught me. Probably better than Shannan himself would've. And if he was able to get me to unlock Astra that easily... who knows. Maybe he is distant family."

She brushes it off as she walks inside, resuming her sword twirls... but with a slight delay on each spin.

This is fine. This is fine.

One of her heroic mentors wasn't who she thought is was. Big deal. It was eight years ago. She was still Mareeta. She was still perfect. She was still perfect.

"Nice to hear Nanna talked to you, though - glad she's been able to talk to some people from around the continent, still."

She shakes her head, drawing her blade as she reaches the epicenter of the training grounds, facing Ayra.

"Now we sparrin', or no?"

Her face falls into a cocky smirk... or at least, she attempts for it to.

[war-father]

"Oi! Big guy! Uriel, right?"

Mareeta slings her sword into her sheath, coming back from teaching her kids.

"Heard you're a Lions teacher, now. Glad to see a new face. What do ya teach? I bet you'd be killer with an axe, or something like that..."

After a quick bit of breathing, Mareeta looks up to make eye contact - not that far up, thankfully.

"But, regardless, with a build like that, there's no way I don't ask you to spar at some point. We're colleagues, after all."

duma hears, down the hall, a woman of rough tongue, and it takes a moment to realize she is speaking to him. he is not yet used to his name. he must work on this. " i am he. "

she launches, immediately, into speculation over what he may teach. duma's eyebrows raise slightly in bored bemusement; had she not read any further than his name on his announcement listing? were he to teach axes, his students would die. were he to teach gauntlets, his students would die. were he to teach any other weapon, his students would not live to relay his education. for the sake of his own appearance---and for the sake of humans perhaps not used to the benevolent touch of a dragon---he will refrain. " i teach history, " he says instead, flatly. " i believe there are enough people here to teach weaponry. " even if none of them are as qualified.

he puts up a hand to stop her, shaking his head. " i will not spar unless i have been shown something of interest. " she does set some odd sense off in duma's mind; not dissimilar to that crown prince dimitri, though in a different flavor. just who are these people? " if i am to waste my efforts on something, i must be given something of equal value. "

[bladespromotedpawn]

"I mean, I can do a lot. I'm the closest to perfect a mercenary can be."

Mareeta shakes her head, smirking as she pulls back out her sword, shined to perfection - she always takes care to keep her weapon in good condition after a good training with the students. It teaches them good lessons on weapon maintenance.

"But, if you needed a demonstration..."

She can't help herself but grin as her blade alights pale green, stars of Astra growing along it, releasing that distinct scent she loves, not quite the ozonic scent of a Levin Sword's strikes, but certainly adjacent. She... didn't use it in combat much, here in Fodlan. It was infuriatingly hard to get her students to perfect it as fast as she did, and she preferred to fight with the tools she could teach them.

"Then the Swordmistress of Stars can provide it."

She gives a few safe, practiced, yet still skilled and uniquely "Mareeta" slashes, before flashing Uriel a determined, confident smirk. 'Just try me, big boy.'

"Not sure if this is a technique you know from wherever you're from. It's the trademark of the royal family of Isaach, in Jugdral which... I'm technically a part of, even if I don't much align with it these days..."

She quickly resheathes it, before running a hand along her scarf, glistening with the stardust her blade swings tended to leave behind.

"So... is that a yes to the spar?"

[war-father]

there is a smell that rides the blade of this woman's sword. it is not that of steel nor of newly-smelt edges; if he were to put a word to it, duma would say that it could be considered electric. nowhere in valentia could a man create this kind of war-scent, not those who wielded magic nor even the thunder swords of the proficient warrior. it is, somehow, not magic at all.

it is draconic, if only phantomlike, and duma must take a moment to process this.

the girl herself is ridiculous even though her bladework is commendable. the " swordmistress of stars " is an epithet like those who wear their strength on their sleeve---predictable, easy to read, and doomed to fail always be it a thousand times or once. duma does not respect those types; there is too much air in their head and not enough knowledge. must such a technique be in the hands of someone like this?

" i will concede, " sighs duma, " that your technique impresses me, if slight. i have never seen anything like it where i have come from. " but now his arms fold over each other, and his face turns disapproving. " but beyond that, you do not impress me. you remind me of the overconfident mercenary: give them a shiny object and watch them flail it around until they lose it.

" it is unfortunate; i would spar with the wielder of that technique, but i would not spar with you. i suppose there is little that can be done about that. "

[bladespromotedpawn]

"I-"

Mareeta curses under her breath. Theatrics really made her seem a less competent warrior, didn't it? She knew how she was, but the way she talked made it easier for taking jobs... but harder to have her colleagues here take her seriously.

"Funny. You don't impress me either, now."

She shakes her head, sighing.

"You look strong. You give off an aura of strength. I've seen great people I've fought with and against like that."

And yet...

"But most of them at least gave off a veneer of respecting colleagues. You're strong, sure. Big, beefy. You'd make a killing in the mercenary world... but your behavior makes it so that no one would hire you."

She steps back, turning around.

"If you find yourself having a change of heart, come to my office. Otherwise... I don't see anyone here offering you a second glance. Being standoffish like that is just a one-way ticket to being fired."

And she leaves the room, eyes shut tight. It's a shame. He looked like he'd be a fun fight, at least.

[otgolokh]

Mareeta had... grossly underestimated her chest injury for a while. She had to stay low, trying to aid any of the others who were hurt. But, that came at a cost - cowardice, in her own eyes. She wasn't able to do anything when it all went to shit.

"..."

Mareeta stares over the wreckage of where her class was. Her class. And, picked clean by vultures were... that which she should've protected.

She can't help herself - she goes down onto her knees, just... taking it in. She failed them.

Shaking, she gets back up, only to end up face to face with the one person she felt she did perfectly by during the hell.

"...Sorry you had to see that. How're you holding up?"

Mareeta tries to keep positive, tries to keep her feel the same as it was before.

And praying her perfection can come back sooner than later.

" ...Hm. As well as I can, I suppose."

Karel at least has the foresight to avoid the obvious question of where the hell she was during the reconquest; she came back alive, and that's good enough for him.

Now that the specter of violent death no longer has its hold on him, Mareeta doesn't quite have the saint-like glow she had back then in that accursed fortress, where he had grown weak and, frankly, a bit hysteric. But he does still see a bit of Karla in those eyes, and he does like that about her; he can't resist the slight smile cracking onto his lips.

"Mareeta, do keep sharp. You and I both have much to do, even if we won't be working by each other's sides anymore."

[bladespromotedpawn]

"That's good to hear."

Mareeta shakes her head, sighing as she picks at the bandaging still wrapped taut around her chest. Even now, she wasn't sure how much she had in her, honestly - movement still somewhat hurt, and breathing was still a bit of a challenge...

"..."

...Hang on a moment.

"Hold that thought - you... gave me an idea. Once I get my class back into working state, since..."

She gestures around at the damage, the destruction surrounding her.

"It's in ruins at the current moment, I... may be in need of a hand. My body's been in a rocky state since that campfire ambush - I think that blade had a soporific factor in that poison, because my body has barely been able to function, even still. I still need to teach. I know you're probably gonna be busy with a ton of other shit, but..."

She reaches a hand out, wincing slightly as she does.

"Think you can lend a hand with some of my lessons? Doesn't need to be all of them, but your swordwork back then was inspiring, honestly. I know my students would love to have someone else to see some moves from, since I have a consistent style. I'll pay you well if you do."

She makes eye contact, an unstated desperateness seeping through. She's not in a state to teach. She needs to teach the students she let down. But she doesn't want to ask for help from someone she doesn't know.

"It's ok if not. I just... could use some aid, and wouldn't mind working with you again in the future."

[otgolokh]

In turn, there's an unspoken surprise in what exactly she's asking of him — Karel is neither a teacher or protector, and for a moment he's tempted to rebuke it entirely: He isn't sure if he can be trusted in such an envirionment, in truth.

...But the raw conviction in her eyes makes him hesitate. She really does mean everything she says, doesn't she...?

"...I cannot promise it'll be soon. I have my own affairs to attend to, and... I'm not much of a teacher. But I've seen your enthusiasm for myself: You walk the path of the sword, just as I do."

There's a thoughtful glint in his eyes then, and perhaps Mareeta would've thought there was more light there than she had ever seen before.

"...Very well. I've my reservations about devoting my service to the monastery, but if you ever have need for me... I'll do what I can. Is that agreeable?"

[bladespromotedpawn]

"You're working for my students, not the monastery. Trust me - I'm not some hyper-devout like some of my students can be..."

Heck, Mareeta doesn't even really believe in Fodlan's goddess. She might be real. She might not be. She has no way of knowing.

"Plus, it might let you relay some information for my students for their own paths. I admit my life experience is a pretty... unique experience."

She gives a small smile, running a hand along the bandages adorning her chest. Even with her standard outfit fixed up a little, the bandages still made her jut out a little. She didn't like that - made her swings harder to manipulate.

"Oh, and Karel?"

A quick, pregnant pause follows, before...

Mareeta dashes in for a tight hug, before pulling back, patting his shoulder.

"Stay alive. I don't wanna lose anyone like you."

Karel made her... think back. Back to a first apprentice, so full of hope, of pride.

A first apprentice riddled with bandit arrows, Mareeta having to carry him back to the nearest medical tent.

An apprentice she almost lost. Who almost made her forsake taking anyone under her wing.

Mareeta wanted to do right by him.

Mareeta wants to do right by him now.

"And don't be afraid to talk to me. I'm here for ya."

[war-father]

"Oi! Big guy! Uriel, right?"

Mareeta slings her sword into her sheath, coming back from teaching her kids.

"Heard you're a Lions teacher, now. Glad to see a new face. What do ya teach? I bet you'd be killer with an axe, or something like that..."

After a quick bit of breathing, Mareeta looks up to make eye contact - not that far up, thankfully.

"But, regardless, with a build like that, there's no way I don't ask you to spar at some point. We're colleagues, after all."

duma hears, down the hall, a woman of rough tongue, and it takes a moment to realize she is speaking to him. he is not yet used to his name. he must work on this. " i am he. "

she launches, immediately, into speculation over what he may teach. duma's eyebrows raise slightly in bored bemusement; had she not read any further than his name on his announcement listing? were he to teach axes, his students would die. were he to teach gauntlets, his students would die. were he to teach any other weapon, his students would not live to relay his education. for the sake of his own appearance---and for the sake of humans perhaps not used to the benevolent touch of a dragon---he will refrain. " i teach history, " he says instead, flatly. " i believe there are enough people here to teach weaponry. " even if none of them are as qualified.

he puts up a hand to stop her, shaking his head. " i will not spar unless i have been shown something of interest. " she does set some odd sense off in duma's mind; not dissimilar to that crown prince dimitri, though in a different flavor. just who are these people? " if i am to waste my efforts on something, i must be given something of equal value. "

[bladespromotedpawn]

"I mean, I can do a lot. I'm the closest to perfect a mercenary can be."

Mareeta shakes her head, smirking as she pulls back out her sword, shined to perfection - she always takes care to keep her weapon in good condition after a good training with the students. It teaches them good lessons on weapon maintenance.

"But, if you needed a demonstration..."

She can't help herself but grin as her blade alights pale green, stars of Astra growing along it, releasing that distinct scent she loves, not quite the ozonic scent of a Levin Sword's strikes, but certainly adjacent. She... didn't use it in combat much, here in Fodlan. It was infuriatingly hard to get her students to perfect it as fast as she did, and she preferred to fight with the tools she could teach them.

"Then the Swordmistress of Stars can provide it."

She gives a few safe, practiced, yet still skilled and uniquely "Mareeta" slashes, before flashing Uriel a determined, confident smirk. 'Just try me, big boy.'

"Not sure if this is a technique you know from wherever you're from. It's the trademark of the royal family of Isaach, in Jugdral which... I'm technically a part of, even if I don't much align with it these days..."

She quickly resheathes it, before running a hand along her scarf, glistening with the stardust her blade swings tended to leave behind.

"So... is that a yes to the spar?"

[bladespromotedpawn]

Holding Out for a Hero

[bladespromotedpawn]

Continued from here

"Speakin' my language, great-aunt!"

Mareeta snatches up her own sword, absent-mindedly spinning it as she walks - a technique she perfected, with no risk for either of their arms. Just made it easier for her to focus on the conversation.

"…Shannan. He said not to tell anyone he was laying low there, wanting to hide his identity, but… he helped me unlock Astra. Taught me a mentality that's helped me perfect the technique, too - Heart and Blade, moving as one."

And Mareeta was glad for it. It let her become the mercenary she was now.

It let her become the hero she was now.

It let her become Mareeta. In all the ways she knew.

"…"

Feeling gaze burning into her side, Mareeta turns, slipping her sword back into its sheath, making brief eye contact, before quickly turning back.

"…Did I say something wrong?"

She pushes open the door to the training grounds, mind racing. Was there some social faux pas she missed? She may have been of noble blood, but times like this reminded her why she was a champion of the people, not those higher up.

@astrasword

[bladespromotedpawn]

Don't Dream It's Over

[bladespromotedpawn]

Mareeta lets out a low whistle as she looks over the example plushes.

"Even after a complete ransack, they spare no expenses, don't they…"

Mareeta understands the opulence, of course - how could she not? Beyond just being primarily nobles, from what Mareeta could make of the political scene, it was rife in showmanship. So, a showcase of wealth is likely made of every sort of expenditure.

Even the stupid cute ones.

"…"

Of course, the 'rough and tumble mercenary queen of Thracia' isn't going to say no to a purchase. Beyond just helping the repairs, (which she still feels a little guilty about, handling it as she did…) it’s a potential exercise in her branding. Her look was known across the peninsula, but her time here taught her that more needed to know the blazing red scarf, glistening with sword swings of a million stars.

"Think I can get one of these with a scarf?"

Mareeta gestures to one of the more medium-sized bears, sitting atop one of the rows. It was a simple looking one, but she could see potential in it.

"A red one, if possible. I have some spare supplies if I need to order it custom-made."

After an assenting nod, she slips back into the waiting room, and spots, out of the corner of her eye…

"Heh, glad to see ya. Couldn't find you when it all went down. How're ya holding up?"

After a small pause, she chuckles, pulling Nanna into a tight, close hug, one Mareeta gave to those she held dear - siblings of battle, of peace, or, in this case...

A sister of home.

"Or, I suppose a better question would be…"

She smirks, running a calloused hand through the strawn-hewn hair.

"What bear's caught your eye, @hosannan?"

[astrasword]

@bladespromotedpawn sent: News travels fast for the blade of Fiana, especially when it comes to staff. She knew she wasn't the only specialist in bladework who had taught for the Lions. Of course, she was the best among them. But still, others have had their time in the spotlight. So when she hears of who the returned teacher is, however... "Well, well. Didn't expect to see another sword teacher from Jugdral teaching my kids..." Mareeta shakes her head, running a hand along her scarf. "Name's Mareeta of Fiana - master of heart and blade, wielder of Astra." Mareeta shakes her head. a small chuckle escaping her lips. "What do you say we spar at some point? I haven't had much practice against mainland Jugdrali styles in a while - mostly just my home Thracian, if any..."

When she first turns towards the younger sword instructor, Ayra's heart catches in her throat. She is of course aware that she is out of time, even if it is easier to forget that fact in Fódlan. Despite her fears, this did not change her love for her homeland — but it is hard, at times, to be confronted with it.

It is a relief, then, that she doesn't meet her grown daughter on her first day back; that whatever resemblance she might have seen to Larcei, or more accurately to herself, is owed to the fact that this young woman too hails from Isaach.

"Your kids?" She retorts with a smirk, a hand going to the hilt of her sword as she feigns offense. "If I hadn't taught them before I would have let it slide, but they're our kids, got that?"

She laughs, though the sound is short-lived, ceasing abruptly when the other professor offers her name. Mareeta — she might have thought it a coincidence, some commoner named after a long-dead princess, but wielder of Astra —

Oh, gods. And here she thought she would be spared from facing the gulf of the years! She can't help but to let out another huff of laughter, bending her head briefly, before she looks at her great-niece again. Of all the relatives...!

"Well, you and I simply must spar, Mareeta," are the first words she thinks to offer, smiling despite herself. Then, overcome by some impulse from bygone days (or else by habit from her time there), she bows in the courtly style of their home. "I am Ayra of Isaach, wielder of Astra and aunt to your father Galzus."

She shakes her head, still not quite believing; although, of course, this must be more bizarre for poor Mareeta than it is for her.

"I know how it sounds, but I swear on my life it's true — and, oh, I am so glad to learn you survived. Last I heard you were separated from your father, and I thought... Never mind. I look forward to seeing what kind of warrior you've grown into."

[bladespromotedpawn]

"Well... yeah, sadly."

Of all the things she was expecting, asking her great-aunt to spar was... not on her list of activities for the day.

"I was snatched up by slave traders."

Mareeta's usually cocky grin falls into a scowl. Mareeta wasn't merciful, but she did usually try to get conflicts done without bloodshed. Not slavers. They... were her exception. And she usually took jobs that put her against them far below her usual rate of charge.

"I was rescued by my adoptive mother - a mercenary in Thracia, Eyvel. She... helped make me who I was."

Time was wonky. She knew it was - it felt like she was years ahead of her friends from back in Thracia. But... that didn't mean she was expecting to see... this.

"And then I trained under another one of your family! I... don't really know what he was doing in Thracia, I mean, Isaach is a pretty far ways north from where... but nevermind. He helped me perfect using Astra - heart and blade, moving as one."

She pulls her sword off her back, looking into her reflection for a bit, before looking back up to Ayra, flashing a smirk.

"Anyhow, I became a mercenary after that. Taught a... lot of apprentices. Hells, that's why I'm here - to teach, because I know that I would've loved to have a teacher like myself in the past, when I was... lost."

She had people, mind. Mother. Saias. Leif. Shannan. Galzus.

But Mareeta made herself, in the end, even with the advice she gave.

And she'd do it all over again.

"And as for what kind of warrior I've grown up into - most people call me 'a perfect mercenary.' I wouldn't say that yet. I'm... as close to a perfect warrior as I can be yet, and I improve a little more each day, be it training, sparring, teaching, anything. I can always improve, and I always will."

For she is Mareeta of Fiana.

And she will be perfect.

[bladespromotedpawn]

🎲

(Rolled a 2: a kiss on the nose)

Mareeta didn't take too many jobs abroad.

Their budget was usually stupid constricted as is, and voyages were never light expenses. Not to mention the variables of the sea made it a danger regardless - she could be as perfect at her sword as she wanted, but the waves didn't give a shit.

But a prepaid voyage by the Hoshidan royal family, for a job that paid… quite honestly, more than Mareeta would've usually charged for it? She'd be a fool not to take that deal.

Although seeing the cherry blossoms for the first time when their ship made dock almost made her wish she could've paid them for the sight. Almost.

”Everyone set up?"

Murmurs of assent follow as Mareeta strides out of the inn keeping them. Sure, they didn't stock as much beer as she imagined her company would've liked, but it was a cozy base of operations for them. Plus, she may stay a while, pick up some more jobs here, before getting back to Thracia.

"Good. Now where is…"

One thing that made Mareeta an attractive mercenary partner to recruit was her communicativeness. She was fluent in many tongues, learned stupid fast, and could write just as.

She had a habit of writing to her temporary bosses during the trips, or even a little before.

Princess Sakura of Hoshido still received her letters long after Mareeta usually stopped sending them for professionalism’s sake.

"Ah, there she is."

She lived up to her name - hair as pink as the blooming forest, petals falling from on high all but becoming one with her hair. It was like one of the trees grew a face, arms, and legs. But, of course, Mareeta knew that looks were not that deceiving. Sakura had a lovely writing style, and Mareeta enjoyed getting to see her come out of her shell a little more with each letter sent. Plus, it was good for keeping her Hoshidan good.

"Here to send us off? Don't worry, that fort will be back in Hoshidan hands before you know it."

She swoops downward, laying a gentle, soft kiss onto the bridge of her nose. She usually kissed more… mature women, in closer ways than just the nose, but… it was nice. Reminded Mareeta of the first apprentice she had.

Before that dream got snuffed with them.

"You hired a perfect mercenary, plus her company. Get ready to see perfect results."

[bladespromotedpawn]

🎲

(Rolled a 17: An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss)

AU: Mercenary

Mareeta slips back into the base long before any of the troupe gets back. It was usually how things went. They kicked ass, Mareeta cleared out any stragglers, then while the rest figured out what they wanted to do with the targets (most were dead or alive bounties), she made it back to handle the money exchange.

She trusted the rest, don't get her wrong. They'd crossed oceans with each other, she would die for pretty much any of them, and she held faith they would do likewise.

Still, that usually let her handle the finance for the more... fiscally irresponsible members, and let them handle the heroics. She was already perfectly known where she went.

But... this time threw a wrench in the works. They were paid up front, and told to deliver the targets. Mareeta still headed back early (she had a habit, she'd stick to it,) but... that left her with something she rarely had: free time.

So, laying back in the bunk bed, Mareeta flips absent-mindedly through a book on swordplay. It was stuff she knew well. Heck, it was written kinda... poorly.

She probably could've been a better teacher than this, but... that's not this life.

The door flips open.

"Shamir!"

Mareeta leans her head off the bunk, putting her book down, hands wrapping around Shamir's own head, pulling her in for a kiss.

"Heh, this was a new way... glad to see you back, though. Another job well done."

As always. After all, she was a perfect mercenary.

With a... somewhat close to perfect squad.

...

Shamir definitely closest to perfect, apart from herself.

[prettythought]

kiss roulette

inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the nose

A kiss on the forehead

A kiss to the top of the head

A firm kiss

A gentle peck

A romantic kiss

A platonic kiss

A kiss to the eyelid

A kiss along the jawline

A kiss to the neck

A kiss along the collar bone

A kiss on the chest

A kiss to the stomach

A kiss along the hips

A kiss in the rain

An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

A kiss while laughing

A kiss underwater

A rough kiss

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)

A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

A sleepy kiss

A kiss that's an accident

A kiss while one or both parties are crying

A kiss in greeting

A kiss in parting

A kiss to the back of the hand

A kiss to the palm of the hand

A kiss to the inner thigh

A kiss while someone watches

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

A kiss after a bite

A kiss against a wall

A kiss to the shoulder

A kiss to the back of the neck

A kiss while one party is carried

A tentative kiss

An impulsive kiss

A kiss out of spite

A clumsy kiss

A bloody kiss