a man for flowers

"Today is a fine day—I can smell it. Watch me sweep the ladies off their feet!"

[dancing-duelist-blog]

the merfolk handbook

CHAPTER II: MERFOLK SUBSPECIES

Our previous chapter detailed only the basics of merfolk physiology, as in, the traits that are common to all of the water-kin. When we delve deeper we discover a vast dimorphism between one group of merfolk to another. Thusly, we can establish that there are subspecies of merfolk within the population, each with their own unique and differing traits. While there is yet much to learn about this secretive race, a few sub-species have been identified, and are listed below.

Siren-Type:

While all merpeople possess more advanced vocal cords than an average human, the defining trait of a siren-type mermaid is their unique ability to mimic speaking voices. At its most basic, this trait allows  the merperson to better confuse ship-bound humans, addling the minds of sailors with orders spoken in their captain’s voice, or that of a loved one.

Siren-type merfolk have an incredible vocal range, as well as exquisite singing voices. Aside from causing mere confusion, these merpeople are also able to lure sailors to their doom with the enchanting melodies they sing, quite literally casting a spell on the poor souls in question. Their powerful voices can be heard over even the most violent of sea storms.

These merpeople are found primarily in the underwater kingdom of Ylisse. Given their particular skillset, they spend a great deal of time above the water’s surface - looking for passing ships - as they do below it.

Physically, these siren-type merpeople look the same as their wild-type counterparts. However, it’s been noted by some scholars that their scales tend to carry a more bluish tint than that of others. Many prominent members of society are Siren-type, including the Ylissian royal family.

Vampire-Type:

These merfolk behave as their name may suggest. They feed on the blood and flesh of those belonging to other subspecies of merfolk, with the exception of the were-type merpeople (discussed below). Contrary to popular belief, the bite of a vampire-type mermaid will not, in fact, ‘turn’ you into one of their own. Indeed, if one such merperson approaches you, it is likely with the sole intention of devouring you for their own sustenance.

Vampire-type mermaids are found primarily in the deep trench kingdom of Nohr, far below the reaches of the sunshine above. Their bodies have adapted, over time, to survive the higher pressures of the ocean deep. Their hides are tougher and their scales thicker. Said scales tend to be in dark, onyx tones, tinted with purple or blue. Their fins have adopted curious ‘frayed’ edges, but the reasons for this adaptation are currently unknown. Like terrestrial vampires, their aquatic counterparts also possess pointed incisors alongside the serrated teeth typical to all the merfolk.

Given the lack of sunlight in their dark kingdom, vampire-type mermaids rely on hearing and sight in order to hunt, as well as electroreception - similar to sharks.They are, as can be expected, light sensitive, and rarely stray too far from their dark kingdom. Since they’ve long since adapted to live under higher pressures, vampire merpeople suffer from a curious form of altitude sickness when they spend prolonged time in lower depths above their home territory, an illness they have dubbed the ‘tidal fever’. The fever is characterized by feelings of euphoria which are born from the decreased pressure on their bodies and increased oxygen levels.

The Norhian royal family is of this type.

Were-Type:

Were-type mermaids possess the ability to transform, at will, into great white sharks, and rely on this talent to hunt. Once transformed they possess all the skill and speed of these powerful creatures. While in their untransformed state, they look akin to the average merperson, with the exception of their pointed incisors, a trait they share with their vampiric cousins.

Like vampire-type merpeople, were-type merpeople also posses tough bodies which have adapted to living in the high-pressure, low-oxygen depths of the ocean, and choose to hunt at higher depths where the fish are more abundant. They are also susceptible to tidal fever, though more so while untransformed, and acclimate more quickly than the average merperson.

While mostly found in the tench kingdom of Nohr, they can be found living in other areas as well, including Ylisse. However, it’s been observed that the Ylissian were-type merpeople tend to transform into dolphins as opposed to great whites, but whether this is a conscious choice on the part of these merpeople, or a biological adaptation, is unclear.

Were-type mermaids live in small groups consisting of as few as ten, to as many as twenty members. These groups are organized into a distinct hierarchy with one acting as group leader. While they recognize the Nohrian royal family, they are not strictly considered ‘Norhian’ and live in the ocean just outside of the Nohrian city.

Dragon-Type:

Similar to the were-type merpeople, those individuals who are dragon-type can freely transform into smaller versions of the ocean’s sovereign deity, the leviathan. Dragon-type merfolk colouration may vary but they are always brightly-scaled and vivid beacons in the water. Bright blues and greens are the most common.

In their untransformed state they appear sleeker than the average merperson, and indeed, they are among the fastest merfolk around. Once transformed they possess great strength as well, making them a true force to be reckoned with.

Dragon-type merpeople are found more exclusively in Ylisse, wherein the temple to the leviathan God - and Ylisse’s patron deity - can be found: Naga. 

Element Aligned:

Aside from the above-mentioned subspecies, there have been observed elementally-aligned merpeople with distinct traits of their own, and are outlined briefly as follows.

Air:

Air-aligned merpeople possess wider fins than the average merperson and can briefly skim along in the air above the water, like flying fish. These merpeople are found more often in nations such as Ylisse, which are closer to the water’s surface.

Water:

Water-aligned merpeople exist in both Ylisse and Nohr and possess the most powerful storm-making abilities known to any race. Sailors say that hurricanes are born when a group of water-aligned merpeople meet a group of air-aligned merpeople.

Fire:

Found primarily in Nohr, these fire-aligned merpeople live by the deep-sea vents which exist close to the trench kingdom. Rarely do they stray far from their homes since their abilities allow them to activate the vents, spewing boiling water at any who may attack them. Their hides are thicker and they possess additional scales across the arms and over the torso, allowing them to survive comfortably in such high temperatures.

Earth:

Earth-aligned merpeople have some control over underwater plant life. They hide primarily within the seaweeds, using them to ensnare passing fish for their meals. With coral, they can construct fine homes for themselves and others.

(As always, credit goes to @soulensoleille for being constant inspiration for this AU. The entire idea of Tidal Fever is hers. )

[dancing-duelist-blog]

glorycrowned:

Should he find any immediate need to repeat himself, Laslow would then find this unplanned midnight excursion quick to meet any end before it even so much as began. Still, an uneasiness settles within every crack to dent and reanimate his once pristine bones, ivory meant to remain polished without flaw like the very edge of his gleaming steel.

Something of.. wandering his very homeland without a purpose of importance to adorn his appearance felt wrong. As is, a painful abundance of mouths remained to be properly fed whilst he merely meandered about at the ever free spirited side of Nohr’s most notorious flirt. … worse of all, he agreed to this, if only partially.

Oh well. This was hardly the most precarious predicament he has been pressed with in terms of Laslow and somehow, he knew better than all others, surely this would be the furthest battle cry of any last. 

For a fleeting moment, surprise colors him and poised consideration rightfully follows. He would allow Laslow to lead only after they have successfully breached the castle’s imposing gates and made way safely. Until then, he dons that cloak and wills himself to accept the simplicity of stealing away into the darkened dead of night without the weight of responsibility and Laslow’s incessant ramble digging firm against the soreness of his worn heels.

“I suspected you might suggest as much. However, I will take lead for now. Be vigilant. We must remain silent and unseen.”

Laslow grins and sets a finger over his lips. "Quiet. Yes, of course milord," he says, forgetting entirely the definition of silence. He slows until he's walking a respectful half-step behind his liege. His hands are behind his back, fingers threading together as he plans.

He has questions to ask, inquiries to make. What would his lord prefer? This, or that? A walk alone, or a drink in a tavern with his men? Ah, the walk would be better, no? Of course. Especially considering his lord's hand. There's no need to bring attention to the injury, lest some of his enemies get ideas.

Of course his prince would be just as deadly even with one remaining hand, but there's no reason to tempt fate.

As Laslow thinks the rest of his questions fall into place and answer themselves. The wine over the mead, certainly. The roasted beef in the brioche - if the bakers have it.

Yes, yes. It'll be very nice.

And certainly not a date. Merely a chance to prove himself to his lord that he can, indeed, last a night without getting into a drunken brawl.

Laslow is back to bubbly as soon as they've left the castle proper. "It'll be right this way, milord. Down the path to the town. Did you want me to saddle your horse, actually? It'd be a faster trip, though of course not nearly as...stealthy as you might prefer. Ah, it won't be a long walk, however. Perhaps ten odd minutes down to the town. Depending on if there's a wait in the bakery, perhaps a bit longer..."

He stops his rambling long enough to look up, take a breath and smile. "You haven't done this altogether often, have you? Taken time for yourself?" Laslow already knows the answer to that and so he carries on with, "You should, you know. Yes, I know you've many responsibilities, milord, but you're no good to anyone if you're exhausted beyond the point of coherent thought."

[dancing-duelist-blog]

soulensoleille:

“Not so soon? When were you going to tell me, then? Once I was ruling, responsible for thousands of our people? When – if!! – I had a child of my own, leaving me to tell that poor kid and deal with this all over again?”

She’s riding on the last vestiges of anger, allowing it to dictate the spiteful words spewing from her mouth. Anger has never been her issue, per se, but once she’s on a train of thought… The touch of her father’s rough skin against her shoulder serves as a grounding point, seeping away the surge of emotion.

As much as she yearns for it to be lies, this truth he’s telling her makes sense.

The seething glowers Grandfather would lower upon Inigo as he carried her out of a meeting, laced with some horrible emotion no small child should ever have to see her beloved father be the recipient of. (Some horrible emotion no daughter should bestow in turn upon the same beloved father.)

The way he would fidget with the cuff around his arm, twisting it in place whenever talk of the war with humans came up. Soleil had always assumed it was just because of his kind and gentle nature – which wasn’t a stretch by any means – but now the subconscious habit holds so much more meaning.

“My…the other half of my family?” she repeats, brow twisting as another puzzle piece falls into place. There’s always been an unspoken assumption that her paternal grandparents had died in the Reef War. There’d never been any clarification, only the knowledge that they weren’t around to dote on Soleil like Chrom and Robin had been. And to think they were alive…

For the first time since the news that she was some bizarre part-human creature had been unceremoniously settled around her shoulders, her lips part slowly to reveal the most relieved of sharp-toothed grins. It’s funny, though. Even the act of smiling lifts some of that weight from her shoulders, just as Inigo had taught her.

“You know what, Dad?” Anger gives way to curiosity, gives way to elation. “I’d love to see it! Meet them! Do you have siblings? Do I have uncles, and aunts, and cousins? Don’t get me wrong, I love Uncle Morgan and everyone else, but you know how it is!” The idea of meeting even more family, the people who made her father the wonderful person he is? That’s something that not even her long-standing hatred of humans could keep her away from.

Despite the nerves shooting through her belly, screaming that this is human, this is wrong, her excitement shows in the wriggle of her body, the way she clutches onto Inigo’s arm. She gazes up at him with eyes aglow, childish spirit running hot through her veins “What are they like? When can we go? Can we – now?”

Okay, perhaps, as parents, a conversation about timing is pending here. As good as Lucina and Inigo's intentions were, Soleil does have a point. An altogether delayed delivery does nothing but create more opportunities for a mishap. Earlier may have been best but there's no turning black the clock now. Perhaps some version of him somewhere is capapble of moving through time, but this one certainly is not.

Inigo slowly relaxes, tail uncurling, fins unfurling, lips curving as Soleil slips from the angry force of nature that could rival the wrath of his beau, to the warm beam of sunshine after which she is named.

"Yes, the other half of your family. My mother and father, a friend who may as well be a brother - albeit a grouchy one. So your grandparents and a new uncle...well, several aunts and uncles if you count those non-blood relations. I was an only child, which was likely a blessing for my parents."

Inigo takes Soleil's hands in his own and squeezes. "Oh, Soleil, you'll finally get to see what sunshine is like on the land, as it reflects in the water. You'll see a what sunset looks like from my old manor window, as it dips down over the ocean, burning the sky and water alike."

He's as delighted and perhaps it's merely the relief at not being hated, but it's something. It's bubbling, overflowing. He spins Soleil around in delight (an easier feat done in the water than on land). Bubbles glitter in the water around them, borne from the sudden, rapid motion.

Reality drops onto him like a net.

"N-now?" He hesitates. Now? Shouldn't Lucina be asked first? He doesn't want to risk her wrath - and a considerable one, it is - but on the off chance that she vetos the decision...

On the one hand, Soleil seeing the humanity that is as a part of her as her merfolk heritage would do her a world of good. Understanding breeds sympathy. She'll be a better ruler for it.

On the other...

Merfolk often use the mimicry talent inherent to their kin as a weapon. What better way to lead ships astray than to mimic the captain's voice with false orders? Worse still, to toy with the minds of sailors long at sea, driving them to throw themselves into the ocean and the apparent longing arms of a loved one.

It only takes one listen to parrot a voice perfectly...

In a seaside town like Rosanne...Soleil will have more voices in her arsenal than any mermaid before her.

Either she becomes the best, most understanding ruler Ylisse has ever seen...or Inigo will create the perfect, man-killing machine of a mermaid.

Goodness.

He must count on her inherent goodness and her willingness to help people. She needs to know...and Inigo needs to be the one to show her.

"Allow me some time to prepare, my darling. I'll take you to the shores of my homeland...Ah, just don't tell your mother about this," he advises.

[tenebrynhildr-deactivated202004]

return;

As promised it’s Jan 3 and I’m back! Going to spend the next couple days getting myself sorted and figuring out what I need to write and to whom. I have a feeling that a few of my threads have gone stagnant so there may be a starter call coming up soon!

– Fox <3

[dancing-duelist-blog]

sleihbeggey:

She watches the exchange with fondness. Even after such a short time knowing the duo, the gentleness with which Inigo treats his companion is endearing.

“Belle’s a beautiful name, and it suits you,” she assures the fairy. As she shifts her gaze to the man across from her, the corners of her eyes crinkle in a smile. “Inigo did a good job choosing it for you.”

His question prompts a silent, internal conversation. Where is she from? On one hand, there’s her nationality in the East. On the other, her home is in England. With Elias.

And just like that, “England. I live in England. You don’t…you don’t know where that is, do you?”  Of course not; the way he talks about fairies and the ability to see them being common is quite indicative of that. But once the feeling of warmth, of home has been sparked in her chest, it’s difficult for Chise to roll it back in.

“It’s, um, it’s quiet, there. I live out in the country with my teacher.” She gestures out with her hand, as though the vague direction she’s pointing in could possibly indicate how her internal compass tells her that home is just right there, only a waking moment away. “Where are you from?”

Inigo swings his head in the negative. He doesn't bother to ask where this 'England' may be. The unfamiliar name confirms what he suspects - that Chise is far, far removed from the world(s) that Inigo's familiar with.

Belle perches on Chise's head, crossing her legs neatly at the ankles. Her feet dangle just in front of Chise's eyes as she makes a nuisance of herself, as fairies are wont to do.

"I--" Two identities. Two lives. Which is him? Which does he introduce himself with? He's already gone with his given name but... "I'm from many places," Inigo answers finally, with a brief, nervous laugh. "But my current home is a place called Nohr! It can be gloomy sometimes. The sun doesn't really come out and things don't really...uh, grow there. But what's lacking in nature is made up for with the people." Inigo thinks of Xander and Peri, Keaton, Effie, Arthur... Of course there's always Odin and Selena, but they don't count as 'Nohrian' any more than he does.

"Do you have a family there? In England?" Chise looks young enough to still be with her parents but Inigo notes that she hasn't actually mentioned any. 'Teacher' had been her operative word, not 'mother' or 'father'.

[tenebrynhildr-deactivated202004]

semi-hiatus;

Just a little note to let you all know that I’ll be on break from Dec 24 to Jan 2. I’ll be back Jan 3. Until then I’ll have sporadic internet use and likely won’t be on Tumblr altogether often. I’ll check in now and again, of course, but I likely won’t be posting much. 

All the posts I owe have been queued up and should be coming out over the next couple of days. I’ll be on Discord more often than Tumblr, so if you need to reach me that’s where you’ll want to go! 

(If you don’t have my Discord and we’re mutuals, please IM me for the information!)

Happy holidays, my friends! See you all in the new year! 

– Fox <3

[dancing-duelist-blog]

soulensoleille:

Needing the motion, the slight distraction from the serious nature of their conversation, she reaches to briefly prod the cuff which apparently keeps his mermaid form intact. The filigree of her father’s ornamentation has never been more intriguing, but neither it nor the compliment (“perfect child” indeed – she’s fully aware of the havoc she wreaked when little) can derail her from Inigo’s plea.

“I’m not disappointed,” she begins, trying the lie out before ditching it entirely. “You know what? I am. I am really disappointed, you know? I’m almost an adult! After Mom steps down, I’m probably going to have to rule, and you wait until now to tell me you’re human? Don’t you think that’s at least a little messed up?”

Soleil laughs, the bubbly sound twisting uncomfortably in her gut. “Human. I almost can’t believe it. That you’re human.” And really, she can’t. It’s impossible to reconcile the image of her father as she knows him with the image of a human that he insists to be true.

The full implication of his story hits her like an undertow lurking just below the surface of the water. Her gills flutter with a sudden exhalation. “You’re a human,” she rasps as she releases his arm to face him in turn, “and if you’re a human, and my dad, then that means…”

She’s human, too. Soleil’s spent years of her life sinking ships and killing them, but hey! Guess what! She’s one of them.

Her jaw sets resolutely, her lips pressing into a strained semblance of her smile. Every fiber of her being strains to fold into her father’s embrace. She denies herself that solace. He’s not forgiven, not yet.

“Gods…” she mumbles. She can’t look at him now, not when tears are so quickly welling up and obscuring her vision. “Gods, no…this can’t be real.” She swallows, the motion catching thickly in her throat. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

He lets her examine as what she wills. It makes little sense to hide, especially now. Instinctively he holds his breath, as though expecting the cuff and his merman shape to be shorn away at a moment's notice. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. There’s been an attempt on his life once before, by a jilted noble who somehow learned of the truth and watched his place be taken by an intruder.

A wary eye flicks to the ocean around Inigo. It's a delicate truce between himself and this; the deadly water which could suffocate him at a moment's notice. This shape is but a cloak, a veil, a thin glamour between himself and death.

Inigo winces at his daughter's words. He doesn't disagree but adds, "To be fair, we had planned on telling you..." And he winces again because in what universe - above or below water - would that be a reassuring thing to hear? "Not quite so soon," he adds, carefully. "There's a time for these things...this hadn't been it and your mother will have my fin for this later, no doubt."

Inigo squirms in discomfort, as though sensing his beau's distant displeasure. No doubt Lucina had grand plans for the reveal, and he's gone and swum all over it.

He rises from the coral perch, gray hair swaying out around him. A few cautious flicks of his tail and he's bobbing towards his daughter, reaching out to rest a webbed hand on her shoulder. "It isn't that we never planned to, Soleil. Please understand. My true heritage isn't something known by many. Your mother, of course, your grandparents and your uncle Morgan. Owain as well as Severa. No, not Ophelia. But there were a few advisers...” Inigo snorts. “There's a reason I was never named anything more than the Queen's Consort."

Xenophobic as the merfolk could sometimes be, denying Inigo a title is a pointed, political move in the event the truth became common knowledge. It's only Lucina's staunch loyalty to her beau which kept him from being referred to as a mere concubine.

"We...had wondered what you'd be, when we learned that Lucina was with child. Merfolk or man? This doesn't change what I truly am, after all," Inigo explains, raising his wrist to indicate the cuff. "It only allows me to exist here. You were born a mermaid, Soleil. It's what you are. But...yes, you do have human blood in you too."

It isn't a reassurance. It's honesty. Though perhaps, in a moment like this, it's one and the same.

Inigo lashes his caudal fins in the merman equivalent of tapping one's foot. His gills flutter as he thinks, brow furrowed, arms crossed. His body sways, pushed about by the current as he floats in the water. Far overhead, the sun ripples its way through the ocean, painting patterns traced with water on Inigo’s pale skin.

"Would you like to see it?" he asks, finally. "The world above? Would you like to meet the other half of your family?"

[dancing-duelist-blog]

camelligare:

A moment’s confusion dances across his wavering brows, but Subaki smooths the creases over with a measured smile. Clearly, it’s a ploy.

“He’s a difficult fellow to ignore. With those kinds of theatrics, he could be a one-man play.” He chuckles to himself. “Of course, he could never upstage me.”

Confidence oozing out of every imperceptible pore of his typical pretty boy face, Subaki lets out a charming laugh and cants his head forward. “Indeed I am, Laslow. Just as you are Lord Xander’s retainer. You do your job well.” The compliments come easy when you’re every bit as poised and graceful as a sky knight. “But enough with the jokes. I wanted to ask you your opinion. What do you make of this place?”

"Uh, thank you," Inigo belatedly remembers to accept the compliment. "You...well, you'd be the first to say so, actually. I’ll have to get you to repeat that in front of Lord Xander." Inigo resists the urge to put a few feet of distance between himself and the other man. This Subaki isn't the one he had briefly seen on the battlefield...And he isn't the one who he saw become victim to Hans' cruelty.

He gives his head a vigorous shake, as though it'll clear the sound of Princess Sakura's screams from his mind. He succeeds in nothing but making himself dizzy.

It's a dream. A meeting-place between worlds. Inigo takes solace in the knowledge that, somewhere, there's a version of all of them who've survived the war to become friends on the other side of it.

"This place?" he says, instead, forcing his attention to the scenery. "It's pleasant...it reminds me a bit of home, actually," he says. "Why do you ask? Is there something wrong?"

[dancing-duelist-blog]

invisibleimpossibilities:

Maybe it’s just because she’d been so dourly awoken moments only past, or just the sun gleaming in from behind Inigo… but he looks way too happy. More than the usual cheer, at least. Not that he doesn’t deserve to enjoy a day… but, well, it all looks rather like the gleaming of a child about to GET AWAY WITH something.

“Hey, I said maybe…!” arms cross and Robin’s feet don’t move at his beckon. She has no idea what kind of endeavors go on in that flippant head of his. She might have more important things to do since she’s awake now, anyway.

“First, you tell me exactly what this undertaking entails…”

"Well where's the fun in that?" Inigo asks, setting a hand on his hip. He doesn’t want to say, however, he knows full well that there's no way to make Robin do anything she doesn't wish to. A lack of knowledge about the affair in question isn't going to make the excursion somehow more compelling.

He heaves a sigh, though the smile never leaves his face. "If you must know, then I ask that we walk a ways before I say so. It's...a delicate matter and the tents have ears you know. If not the tents themselves, it's the people they house."

"It's nothing untoward, I can promise you that much. Ah, don't you trust me, Miss Robin? I'm wounded, truly." He sets a hand over his heart, his expression shifting into a perfect caricature of insulted sadness.

[dancing-duelist-blog]

glorycrowned:

For such a warrior who has braced himself through not two wars but three, he is almost saddened to find Laslow is not so much tactile in mind as expected of the very footwork that kept him poised… 

Just as he remained never at the ready. 

An absolute foil to his liege and the prince wonders if having bound this man to him by means of unbreakable loyalty was the most righteous act he could have committed. The very chill transpired by what suffering accompanied his injuries has sunk far beyond the numbness of his compromised hand and afflicted bone. Realization slow to dawn as the coming of any new day, he feels the weight age and discipline has wrought. Having been so tightly cramped within these walls, perhaps he should spare himself and step away.

It matters not where he concludes his next line of work so much as where it ends and though the lucid silence of the castle is best known, he could do well without the apparitions of his past looming about. If even for one night. Without allowing Laslow to gather himself and any sense of pride no doubt crushed in his dismissive wake, he seizes a cloak from where it hangs and proceeds on.

They haven’t the time to dwindle. A simple outing before father is even so much as graced with a word as to where his son has gone and that would be strictly all.

“Very well. Best behavior from here on. Should you accomplish such an impossible feat, I may cut the duration of your remaining punishment short.”

Laslow stares. "Best...be...ha...vior?" he echoes, watching as his prince retrieved a cloak. A small voice informs that yes, he ought to be helping with the task of putting it on, given his lord's one injured hand and the fact that it's part of his duties as a retainer, but surprise keeps him rooted to the spot.

It's only when Marx is nearly at the door that the mercenary is spurred into motion. "A-ah, that wasn't an answer, was it?"

Was it?

Technically an affirmative hadn't been expressed...but neither had a rebuff and certainly not a reprimand. "Was it?" he asks again, louder, scurrying to keep up. He falls into step beside the prince. "W-wait, remaining punishment? When was I being punished? What for?"

The ink? But that had been dealt with already, hadn't it?

Too many questions whirl through Laslow's mind as he lengthens his stride to keep pace with Marx. "Were we going to the town then? I know of a nice ta-...er, on second thought I doubt it'd be to your taste, really. Ah, not to mention your hand and what you mentioned earlier." Perhaps a bar wasn't quite the right route. A tea house? It was slightly more up to standard for a prince.

"This isn't a... d--?" A choked sound escapes Laslow and he looks away, a nervous smile on his face. "Of course it isn't, silly me. Just between comrades, right? It'll be a night off for you, milord!" Some of the usual excitement seeps back into his tone and he's bouncing along beside his prince as they walk.

"Oh! I have an idea. Please, allow me to lead the way. It'll be nice, I promise!"

[dancing-duelist-blog]

soulensoleille:

A coil of her tail provides a shelf for her to rest her elbows upon and digest his story thus far.

It leaves her with a nasty taste in her mouth. A series of beloved childhood memories are at risk of being tainted.  He spins his tale with the same lilts and affection as the he would when she was younger, sitting on his lap or avoiding her fast approaching bed-time. So many of the elements of his bedtime stories seem weaved into his apparent history.

Magic spells. Love at first sight. Desperate fights to change one’s fate (her mother’s favorite). Her heart aches at the comparison.

“Keep going.” The prompt flies unbidden from her mouth, and she turns to look to her father for the first time since he started talking. The expression on his face…she doesn’t like it. Even his woefully fake smiles are better than the moroseness painted across his features.

Soleil reaches out; the first brush of her hand on his skin turns her gills to stone for a terrifying moment. Even if she can’t quite yet bring herself to believe him, even if the betrayal of his lie by omission is raw, she still loves him.

She embraces his arm, clinging onto him with both arms and resting the side of her head against his shoulder. The tight coils of her tail loosen from her perch, lending to a sense of weightlessness in the water. Tired eyes stare out at the thick blue of the ocean before them before fluttering to a close. Maybe she can pretend that this is nothing more than one of those bedtime stories, if she tries hard enough.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Keep going, Dad,” she repeats, cementing her encouragement. “I’m listening.”

Inigo relaxes. The tension from his shoulders ebb as Soleil takes his arm. He hasn't been forgiven, and perhaps this is something which can never be truly pardoned. Inigo had told the truth - he hadn't lied to Soleil about her heritage. However, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about it either.

The caudal fins of his tail unfurl, trailing into the flow of the water. He takes a steadying breath and continues.

"Your mother is...sharp. She discovered what had happened. We had a...disagreement. Understandable, of course. Her people had died due to my selfishness. I left. I had to. I couldn't stay, not anymore. I hadn't intended to be a spy, I hadn't intended for any of it...But it had happened, because of me, because I was impulsive."

He looks down thoughtfully at his tail, giving it a swish. The water eddies and flows around them, disturbed by the movement. "The war carried on. The spell was broken, and I returned to the surface. I fought. Not all humans were participants in this war. I come from the dukedom of Rosanne, set within the country of Valm. The humans who were truly at war with the merfolk were from a place called Plegia. We Valmese fought against them, though our political reasoning was different."

"Politics is as complex above water as it is below, Soleil. Perhaps more so. It's what I meant before about all things having both good and evil within them."

Inigo sighs and continues to recount. "After the war was over I was visited by your uncle Owain. Explorer that he is, he found this," Inigo tapped the thick, gold cuff which clasped around his right forearm. "A relic from times before, it allowed me to take the mermaid form again. As long as the cuff remains on my wrist, I keep this shape."

"Of course, I didn't know what to do with it. I hadn't spoken to your mother since our parting but...Well, she came to see me that day as well. She..." Inigo grins. "Bless her, she forgave me. Or at least, started to. She saw me fight, apparently."

Inigo's smile brightens. "Soul bonds are stronger than racial divides, evidently. Your mother can't escape it, but heaven knows she tried. She's not really one to believe in 'fate' you know," he says, looking back over at Soleil.

"The rest...after that, you already know. We were bonded, and we came to have the most perfect child on either side of the ocean."

Inigo’s smile falters slightly as he turns fully to face his daughter. “Soleil...please don’t be too disappointed with me, for not being the person who you though I was.”

[dancing-duelist-blog]

the merfolk handbook

CHAPTER I: MERFOLK PHYSIOLOGY

When studying merfolk physiology it's important to remember that these creatures evolved primarily as predators. The humanoid torso is an adaptation designed to assist the mermaid in the sinking of human ships – a practice which emerged over time to reclaim the fish reaped from merfolk waters, particularly during the times when the fish population isn’t nearly so prolific.

Hair:

Merfolk hair comes in a plethora of colours. Dark blues and greens are more common and considered advantageous, allowing the individual to swim through the water, virtually invisible in the darkened waves. Brighter blonds, pinks, reds and purples are also present, though rarer in the population. In antiquity, the length of a merman or woman’s hair was considered a sign of stature. In these more modern times the length of merfolk hair has little bearing on their rank or position in society.

Eyes:

Merfolk eyes have evolved to allow the individual to see as clearly in deeper, darker depths as he/she would closer to the water’s surface, hence the adaptation of large pupils. Predictably, the merfolk possess two eyelids. The first is similar to that of humans and open and close vertically. The second set is to protect the eye itself from the wear of the ocean’s salt water. These clear, inner lids open and close horizontally.

Ears:

The tip (or helix) of merfolk ear is more streamlined and often attached to the side of the head. The enhanced ridges of the antihelix, tragus and notch, however, means that hearing is not sacrificed for the sake of hydrodynamics. Merfolk ears are keen enough to pick up on the unique cadence and nuances which comprise a speaking voice.

Voice:

In relation to the above, merfolk voices have a greater range than that of the average human, allowing them to make sounds that a man simply could not. This allows merpeople to commune with more intelligent seafaring creatures such as dolphins and whales.

Respiration:

Merfolk are equipped with both gills – found on the sides of the neck – and lungs, allowing for respiration both above and below water. Thus, unlike whales and dolphins, they do not need to surface for oxygen.

Teeth:

Like the hunters they are, merfolk teeth are sharp, pointed and serrated.

Skin:

The merfolk torso is covered in a soft, yet tough skin reminiscent of a dolphin. These can be found in varying shades of pale pink and gray, to darker shades as well. Notably the shade of merfolk skin varies from place to place, presumably to better mimic the appearance of the nearby human populace.

Torso:

Despite conflicting appearances, merfolk are indeed mammals, thus give birth to live young and produce milk to feed their calves. A small patch of scales cover the lower half of the female’s mammary glands in order to protect the milk ducts from damage. These scales extend from the bottom of the breast until last rib. This gives way to skin once again, which stretches from the last rib to the start of the tail. Male chests are predictably wide and flat and house no scales to speak of.

Hands:

Merfolk fingers are long and slender, tipped in sharp talons to better allow the individual to grab hold of their prey. Webbing between the fingers (ending at the second joint) aid in ease of swimming.

Fins and Tails:  

The most remarkable trait of the merfolk are their fish-like tails. Nearly twice the length of their torso, the tails are covered in bright scales which are cleaned and preened to glimmering perfection. The scales come in a rainbow of colours, though true ‘jewel-toned’ scales are normally found only in the royal lineage. Merfolk possess a dorsal fin as well as a set of ventral fins, as well as the caudal (tail) fins. Some races possess an additional ‘pectoral’ fin. These are thin and gird the waist of the individual.

(for the ‘tails from below’ mermaid AU, currently written by @soulensoleille​ and @fatebled​, but open to others!)

[dancing-duelist-blog]

soulensoleille:

Her body recoils from his outstretched hand. As much as she wants to deny his words, Soleil can’t deny that their similar personalities lend her aid in interpreting the strain of his smile, the anxious flutter of his fins. All together, they add up to the crushing revelation that you know what?

He might be telling the truth. He wouldn’t be so nervous, otherwise.

“Everything,” Soleil emphasizes as she languidly swims around the proffered hand. “You have to explain absolutely everything, you got it?” On her way to claim his newly vacated perch, she levers the music box from his grasp. A willingness to listen isn’t the same thing as a willingness to believe, and she can’t deny the track of curiosity this stupid music box has set her on.

She scrapes a bit of grime from the foot of the device as she waits for Inigo to join her. Bits of the porcelain have been chipped away thanks to its stint in a sinking ship, and while it’s oddly satisfying to run the pad of her thumb against the divots, it’s amazing how such a tiny music box could cause such a disconnect between father and daughter.

“I wish I’d never found this thing,” she mutters, oddly morose for someone usually so upbeat. Her eyes flicker up to Inigo, her brows tightening. A toss of her head indicates he should be by her side, talking already.

If he's being given time to explain himself it's certainly a good thing. The sudden rift between himself and his daughter - easily the most precious person in his life, alongside his beau - feels like a shock of ice in his heart. Such coldness doesn't belong there and Inigo sinks down to perch on the coral beside his child when he’s directed.

He takes a moment to sort his thoughts. "I was born in a nation called Valm, in a seaside town known as Rosanne. If you were to surface along our southernmost border and look towards the eastern landmass you would see the manor in which I was raised," he says. "You've never met your paternal grandparents, my darling, because they live there still, on land."

"When I was a bit older than you are now I boarded a boat. It was a celebration, a cruise in honour of a friend's betrothal. To this day I know not whether the storm which befell us was natural or merfolk-made...and I don't care to know either."

"All the same, the boat sank, and I fell into the water. I only lived because I was saved by the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on...your mother." Inigo's expression changes, a wistful smile gracing his lips as his eyes adopt a faraway look.

"After she brought me back to shore I...well, you've seen how charming I can be," he says, with a sheepish grin in his daughter's direction. By which, of course, he means how not charming he could be. "She returned to her watery home and I? I wanted nothing more than to follow her."

"I returned to shore to find that my friends had survived the wreck as well. We returned home, but my thoughts remained in the ocean." His brow furrows then. "To join her...your mother, I mean. I consulted a great magician by the name of Grima. He gave me an enchantment which would turn my legs into fins and a tail...and I could be with your mother."

"I used to dance," Inigo muses, with a touch of sorrow. He ignores the melancholy and keeps going. After all, he's gained so much since he made that fateful decision. One sacrifice meant nothing when compared with the love of his beau and his child.

That is, if he still retained that love, after all.

"I was a fool. I thought I had gotten what I wanted but...The spell did as it declared. I was transformed, but into a merman and spy both. This was just before the first Great Rift, the war between men and merfolk. Through me those on land, in a nation known as Plegia, gathered intelligence. Using what they knew, they attacked."

A pause, as Inigo’s jaw tightens.

"Many died that first night."

[dancing-duelist-blog]

glorycrowned:

Ah, an interesting point the other rouses.

One in which he would surely digress had he not been effectively felled by a hand, his good one at that in what tragedy befell the unexpected retreat of Leon’s ice made wrath. No such confirmation of the other’s good looks were given, why state the obvious? Laslow thought too much of the ego for his own good.

For a few begrudging moments his eyes lower to take in the very sight. How was he to keep sharp and at the peak of his training with such a dire hindrance to endure? He hoped Laslow was merely up to another of his usual jests but no such stroke of luck offered itself today.

Rather than withdraw in immediate retreat towards the familiarity and comfort of his desk, a squeeze of his eyes wills them shut.

Gods, tell him he was mistaken… surely Laslow possessed more tact.

“Yes, perhaps. If not for my current state. It would do my people no good to see such weakness. Besides, what purpose would getting to witness your antics first hand serve? Other than provide immediate cause to prolong your state of house arrest. Offhandedly, that was not your attempt to woo me along, was it?

For a prolonged moment all Laslow can do is stare as his brain ticks along, processing what's been said. It hits him all at once and he jolts back, nearly tumbling from his seat. "Ah, n-no no, I only meant to...You see, you spend so long within these walls, always working. I thought you would appreciate spending some time, uh, not-working, you know?"

He stumbles over his words and feet both as he stands to back up a step. "Ah, of course I wouldn't be up to any so-called 'antics', as you say. Not if you were there. AH! That isn't to say that the only reason I would not engage in my usual - not that it's my usual behaviour or anything...I'm quite well behaved, milord. It's hardly a fault of mine that trouble finds me."

Trouble came in the form of pretty girls, protective significant-others, dragons and time travel. (Yes, Laslow could easily avoid the former two, but where was the fun in that?)

Laslow wrings his hands, looking at his liege, then away, then back. "Ah, for the record - not that I was asking, really, that truly hadn't been my intention - but if I had been asking you to join me for more...personal reasons would you have agreed?"

[dancing-duelist-blog]

invisibleimpossibilities:

This is why Robin typically doesn’t bother with naps. She wakes up early, writes an agenda, thinks she can pass it off and just MAYBE catch a mid-morning snooze while it’s being carried out and all taken care of. 

But no, as always, a quite obnoxious voice rouses her. On that would be so even if it didn’t find her so grumpy. From it - she hears two questions, but chooses to ignore one. Well, actually, if only she could ignore it. Response turns out anyway - in how a single eye glares at Inigo while a hand rubs the other, and in the snip that sneaks out in the only answer she deigns to give.

“They’re at the training field running drills. Where you should be as well,” after a pause to let it sink in, curiosity can’t help but take over. She grabs her cloak from the cot-post and slides it over her shoulders, better accepting wakefulness and duty, “Augh, but… what do you need them for? Maybe I can help instead.”

Somehow Robin manages to scowl with only one eye. How talented of her. Inigo, however, is quite accustomed to glares, (though even he must admit that the one-eyed variety is rather unique), and shakes it off.

"Hmm? I was merely enjoying the sun, Miss. Robin." While there's some truth to that (carefree days were rarer than rare, in his original timeline), the tell-tale pink mark on his cheek implies that he had been up to a different sort of activity as well.

His eyes glitter at Robin's offer,

"Oh-ho. Your help? I'd be delighted to accept. Right this way, then, if you will," he chirps happily.

[dancing-duelist-blog]

camelligare:

A busy mother with a child in hand and another sprawled around her shoulders shuffles from stand to stand, fetching the day’s bread in its raw forms. The babe cradled against her bosom grabs for the satchel of flour and gnaws at the corner before crying. The poor dear must be teething.

Against the child’s shrill voice, a lively dog hops from side to side, courting the flit of a butterfly that has wandered too far from the meadows. It yaps and jumps and spins around, only to discover its own tail for the umpteenth time. The mutt races around in circles before being scooped up by his owner and carried to the wailing infant.

Reunited with his father, the young boy stops bawling and starts gurgling. He claps in delight at the sight of “up-up!” which must mean “puppy!”

Subaki grins at the sight before the scent of fresh apple pie steals his attention. His mouth waters helplessly and he starts for the bakery.

The glint of metal stops him dead in his tracks but he relaxes when the responsible party offers an apology for jumping to conclusions. Subaki furrows his brow but smiles nonetheless.

“What’s this, Laslow? Some sort of game Odin’s come up with? You’re acting like we’ve never met before.” He sets his hands upon his hips. “It’s sweet how you play along with him. To my understanding, most people won’t even give him the time of day.”

Inigo laughs heartily. "Yes, well, he can be quite the odd--hang on, how is it that you know him?" he asks, squinting. The man in front of him is Hoshidan through and through. Given the state of relations between Hoshido and Nohr, Inigo hadn't exactly gotten much time to develop any friendships with anyone from his neighboring country.

So then how...?

Two options come to mind. (Perhaps he ought to be thankful for his...unique perception of the world, given that he couldn't come to such conclusions without it.)

The first. Time travel. The gentleman in front of him is from the same timeline as he, but simply further along it. 

The second. Alternate realities. The man could be from a parallel world with entirely different circumstances.

Either way, Inigo finds himself in the curious position of not knowing someone who knows him. He's inclined to believe that it's the second possibility. The red-head does seem somewhat familia--

Oh.

Oh no.

His stomach churns with mild horror.

"You're Princess Sakura's retainer, aren't you?"

[dancing-duelist-blog]

fatebled:

          “   somehow,   i have the feeling it will never get old.   ”   at least,   not as long as laslow continues to be   …   well,   himself.   perhaps she wouldn’t need the insistent threatening,   had he just retain his common sense   —   but alas,   she supposes everyone must have a quirk of some sorts.   (   even if his is annoying as it is.   )

          freyja can only quirk an eyebrow at his response,   expression clearly showing her disbelief.   she doesn’t roll her eyes   —   she’s far too mature for that.   but one can merely feel the unbelieving stare boring into laslow.   he’s always been quick-witted,   using linguistics to avoid any damning statements against him.   it may work for others;   but for freyja,   who has known him for years,   she finds this performance a little less impressive.

          “   are you insulting my weight   ?   you seem to have a death wish,   laslow.   ”   she retorts back,   eyes narrowed as she glares at him.   there’s an indignation lit beneath her gaze,   though it contrasts greatly with her huffed cheeks.   her lips purse together as he waves the cookie,   resisting the urge to slap it from his hands and simply maneuvers her head away.   “   i’ve had enough;   thank you.   ”

          just laslow’s mere presence seems to send freyja into an irritable mood,   though she isn’t able to decipher if it’s from just annoyance or perhaps that it’s him who has seen through her humiliation.   nonetheless,   nothing quite tops what he says next,   to which freyja stills herself with a wide-eyed expression.

          “   ——   are you insinuating that i flirt with the ghost   ?   ”   she enunciates every word,   every syllable,   as each seems to grow with her fury.   her brow twitches for a second before she turns away,   walking away from him   &   hopefully further into the area where she won’t have to deal with him.   (   how is it that he gets on her nerves even more than before in the lands of ylisse,   somehow leaving her annoyed but flustered at the same time   ?   perhaps she ought to be blaming niles for his sly tongue   &   inevitable influence on laslow.   by the gods,   olivia would be disappointed.   )   “   unbelievable,   simply unbelievable   …   ”

"Your weight? Not at all. You're quite perfectly weighted as you are," Laslow responds. "As for the cookie; well, your loss," he adds, popping what remains of the cookie in his mouth. The sweet taste dances across his tongue and he hums contentedly, brushing free the crumbs which insisted on clinging to his mouth.

He grins at Fryja. "Ah, yes, that is, in fact, what I was suggesting," he says, hastening after the woman. "Somehow I suspect that weapons wouldn't work on her, even if one were able to withstand the cold long enough to approach her," he reasons.

"So I thought to myself: surely warming her up is the trick. And what purer warmth is there but that which comes from the heart, hmm?" He catches up to her, falling into step beside her. He shifts close enough to nudge her with his elbow. "Now if the charms of a dashing fellow such as myself didn't work then perhaps we ought to try a different tactic, hm?"

It's well-reasoned, in its own ridiculous way.

"If you've a better idea - one which does not involve charging headlong as her in battle - I'd be happy to assist. But as far as plans go, I don't see the harm in trying mine, hm?"