EBON WINGS

Closed RP blog for Zasha from Fire Emblem Shadows. Contracted Knight at The Officers Academy

[deflere]

what the hell is a wyvern

[landsbluod]

"Well it is certainly not a harbinger of peace, is it?" she snapped, fingers moving in her irritation to comb through a lock of hair, sticking briefly to work through a tangle.

It was not lost on her that of the groups, theirs was the only one with such emotional investment - on her part entirely, this too she understood. It only took a look around to see laughter, enjoying the project for what it was, and partly for what it was not, the excuse to make silly faces and gestures, to paint and create.

Perhaps if it had been a different subject then she might have allowed for such a thing from herself. Even though she knew that there were many skilled riders at the academy, and indeed many of them were kinder souls than their beasts would have them admit, she could not find herself convinced as the monastery was that a corps of wyvern riders was to the benefit of a peaceful and civilized society.

But then, she supposed, it was not an officer's job to conduct peace and civility.

For all else these children were learning, above all else, they were learning to conduct war.

"Death from the skies," she muttered bitterly, finding that the space behind her eyes had become quite warm. "I suppose if nothing else, they are good for that."

[deflere]

Zasha doesn't have the technical skill to paint a figure on his canvas, so it remains a smudge of gold and blue. He doesn't want to try to paint it any further, either, even if the sight of it hunched over in the center makes him avert his eyes.

Lines of black here and there, just to act like he was doing something- skeletons of houses or the torn poles of flags, he isn't sure.

"…"

He looks at her again.

"… That's enough."

Setting down the brush (the water he has been given to rinse the color from the brush already a dark crimson, and he thinks that using it will stain now, instead of clean), and the palette, he realizes that it takes effort to let go of the fragile wooden handle.

Then, standing, he offers her a handkerchief that is more of a rag- for the shine in her eyes that he would be hard-pressed not to notice. He doesn't have anything better on him, though if he guesses correctly, she'd certainly have something finer.

"We don't need to continue talking about this."

It was as much of an offer as a simple statement.

[deflere]

When Carina sat down to polish her axe in the Knight's Hall, she expected the usual—knights and mercenaries and the occasional clergyman milling about, moving to and fro as they completed their tasks for the day. But what she doesn't expect is the flash of ebon wings in the corner of her vision, the bovine glancing up to see a familiar—but not at all unwelcome—face.

"Zasha?! When'd you get..."

She shakes her head, "Nah, doesn't matter. It's great to see you here! Did you come to look after Prince Kurt? Or... is it a money thing? I don't really know what jobs mercenaries like to prioritize, but I can't imagine any would want to pass up the pay this place is offering."

“Carina?” Ultimately, Zasha supposes, he shouldn’t be surprised that she was here. Wherever the prince was, his retinue was sure to follow, after all- in fact, he should be more surprised that he hasn’t seen the green knight around yet. 

“The pay is…” He pauses, thinking of how to continue, changing his mind partway. “I’m here for both reasons, I guess. Someone needs to keep an eye on your prince while he’s here, and I may as well profit off of it.”

His shoulder relax, a subtle movement that their owner fails to notice, expression less wary than just a minute before. “You’ll make my job a lot easier.”

[deflere]

what the hell is a wyvern

[landsbluod]

Regardless of the vivacity and innate cruelty of her response, the venom she spat to mix with the paint, her partner did not bat an eye, and perhaps that was for the better - neither provacateur nor sensitive soul, for she thought that either extreme reaction might have gotten beneath her skin and boiled her blood. Lachesis paused a moment, as though to take in his sincerity before decided it was presented in truth, and shifted her weight.

"I suppose it is better if I do not see what you've put on the canvas already." Tilting her head, she took a breath in slowly through her nose, as though debating what might come out of her mouth next.

It would not be to extol the beasts' virtues, for there were enough of those about, and her jaw ground. It was better that he hadn't, it was better for the many here that had not, or said that they had not, but the innocence that they approached the task was something they could not have valued so greatly until it had left them.

Another breath, less irritable this time, more resigned, and Lachesis closed her eyes, forced herself to think back to the last time that she had seen those wretched wings blot out the sun in the distance.

"Their screams. They fill the air and drown out the screams of their victims, some sort of grotesque harmony. Would that those screams were of pain, but…they are remarkably hard to kill. For all that their wings shred to a well-placed marksman's shot, they are hardy, virulent, a strain of disease and blight unchecked in so many places."

[deflere]

This is hatred, Zasha acknowledges, silently, in its truest form. Eyes shift imperceptibly from his canvas, to the face of the woman before him, studying her expression, allowing her words to shape the backdrop of his thoughts.

The fury in her face, shifting as she recalls something he does not know but recognizes nonetheless, queues a shade of blue that he hesitates to place on the canvas. Stark, almost bright, against what was already painted. Nausea rises- without thinking, he takes to the edge of his sleeve to wipe it away.

A violet streak is left behind, imperfectly erased, and he ignores the crimson on his clothing. With a small dab of red, he tries to cover it before it dries- a mistake that just causes it to spread further. Grey decorates the edge of the canvas, further from the mistake in the center of the image- unrecognizable, almost.

He’s running out of red. 

Realizing he has lost track of what she had been saying, he looks to her again. It isn’t hard to guess that her perception of wyverns is different from most, given the more relaxed atmosphere at any other duo, but this is what he was given with.

“…” He needs to wait for the paint to dry. There’s some yellow, similar enough to her hair, left on the palette. A little dab at where the blue is- and it sticks out just as starkly. 

"So it's a creature of war."

[thracianblood]

a penny for your silence

MISSION BOARD: Infamous - Gauntlets +1

[thracianblood]

Traced back. Taking the fall.

So he does have stake in this monastery.

It's unfortunate that this one's not foolish, but at least he knows a tad more about him.

"You do have a striking appearance... I can't imagine there are many here who can fly like you can." Travant forgoes a rebuttal, at least for now. The winged man's words might sound like a blunt refusal, but he can see that he doesn't deny the act of selling another's property as a whole from a moral standpoint. Meaning, there is still room to convince him. He just needs a method that's more logically sound to this man.

Slowly, he takes out a pouch of coins, and not-so-subtly he offers, "Well, I'm not above giving up some of my pay if that's what concerns you. Does that sound more enticing?"

[deflere]

"Seems not." An answer returned more out of habit than to give any sort of information. An acknowledgement, to keep the conversation going while he weighs his options.

On one hand, he loses nothing by reporting this man and getting it over with- the likelihood is that by the time anyone arrives to investigate, he'd be long gone. If he's affiliated with the monastery, maybe there will be some consequences, but if not…

Then he's as good as gone.

On the other-

"…" Crossed arms, a raised eyebrow. This one wouldn't offer him anything out of the goodness of his heart, and Zasha won't touch anything if it'll end up biting him back. "And in exchange, you'd like me to pretend I didn't see you."

It's not a question.

[licehn]

not made for us

         ⤷     non-mission task: infamous   ( laundry )

[licehn]

    “Oh, really?! Th-that's convenient!” If it was just a simple swap, then that was a miracle! He'd sort of hoped this might be the case, but he'd also prepared himself for the possibility that the tangle of mismatched laundry might be even greater than this.

But—

“Phew. Boy, am I glad to have actual pants on again.” His face softens in his relief, a dopey smile on his face, before he realizes how that might have come out.

“That's to say, I didn't touch any of your pants. They're all in here,” Joachim clarifies, setting the basket of clothes down to let the winged man pick through and examine himself. “I didn't want to cut any holes into your pants to fit my tail.”

Now that he's getting a better look at the stranger though, Joachim recognizes the outfit he has on. He cocks his head slightly to the side.

“...Though I'm surprised you didn't cut into my coat there. Does it not feel awkward for your wings?”

[deflere]

And pick through the basket he does, until he finds what he needs to take off the coat and put on something more suitable. Zasha isn't so overt in his relief, but one could find it in the lines of his shoulders, shifted downward from where they started.

"I might have, if it had taken too long for us to switch back." Maybe not his coat specifically, but someone's attire might have gotten ruined. Or maybe Zasha would have bit the bullet to buy something that he could modify.

Either way those were thankfully now left only as hypotheticals- ones that he doesn't consider much further than what is presented.

"Even if it's awkward, it's bad form to damage someone else's belongings."

Wasn't that the reason all of his own clothes went untouched? Do unto others and so on.

"Isn't it the same with your tail?"

[soulsaligned]

throw him in the fire.

mission board: infamous | reason +1 | chrom // zasha

[soulsaligned]

   The winged man descends upon Chrom with further orders to boot. He’s a bit direct, yet given the stress of the present situation, it wasn’t as though Chrom could judge him. Instead, he nods, though something in the back of Chrom’s mind is surprised to know that water is lame against magical flame. 

   “Understood, just a moment-” cupping his hands together before his mouth, Chrom takes a few steps towards the Knights, shouting. “HEY! IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, CEASE DOUSING THOSE FLAMES WITH WATER! SMOTHER IT INSTEAD!”

   His voice was booming, and it carries throughout Gronder Field as the Knights turn to face Chrom with looks of indignance and surprise. They don’t look immediately convinced, yet they still opt to lower the bucket in tow. Perhaps they were already warned one too many times? Whatever the case may be, it was clear that Chrom’s attempt was a success, if a temporary one. 

   He turns back to his companion; “that should keep things handled, for a spell.” Though, part of Chrom was not convinced that it would last forever. There were far too many Knights, and perhaps some would opt to dissent if they so believed themselves to be the wiser. “How many other fires are there? I don’t assume we’re all that close to the source, no?” He was a professor in the face of a Knight tasked to these efforts, Chrom was all the more willing to listen as needed. 

[deflere]

"That's... better than nothing," Zasha comments neutrally. He isn't distracted for long- gathering up the blankets that they had just used those still smoldering are unceremoniously stomped out. Looking at the still grumbling group of knights armed with their half-empty buckets of water, he continues "They've been warned before, but I guess the idea of water dousing fire is too ingrained in them to ignore."

That, of course, was already generous to them- what sort of knights couldn't follow orders?

"Counting the fires is a waste of time- if we let them burn too long, they'll join with each other." Hardly hopeful, but he was hardly hoping. "We're lucky if there's only one source at this point. Do you know how many kids were throwing around fire during their matches?"

More than one, is what he means.

It doesn't matter how many in total- fire magic wasn't a one and done situation, and worse still was when its user was inexperienced.

"Just do what you can- here," A few blankets are tossed. "I'll fly over and get the other side."

[regnumaves]

Funky Flower Fumbling Feat. Futile Faculty Feuds || Tibarn & Zasha

Mission: Flying +1 || @deflere || Mission Season: Herald

[regnumaves]

By now, Tibarn has grown fully accustomed to the reality that here in Fódlan, his flying and speed found more utility in fetch quests than combat most of the time. It's fine by him; it's better for everyone involved, himself included, that he doesn't just go on killing sprees for personal enrichment everywhere he goes. Life can be about more than that, even if his memories of such a reality is blurry at best and warped at worst.

But by gods, must something always test his patience even more than necessary? He’s gone through enough divine trials as far as he’s concerned.

A startled horse’s snort abruptly breaks the otherwise perfect serenity of what was supposed to be a simple delivery caravan of Knights meant to carry a reserve of what’s-its-face flowers to Baile, that Tibarn and another peculiar birdfolk were hired to protect. The other winged guy was by far the most interesting part of this trip as far as the Hawk King was concerned. He’d gather his name was Zasha, and in spite of his appearance, he was not a Tellius Raven that he just so happened to never meet before. He was hoping to strike up a conversation, but—

A second horse’s whinny, followed up by the confused Knights’ disorganized voices, breaks the silence. And then a third.

“What’s the pony whining about?” Comes a wyvern rider’s voice, doing a very bad job at pretending he’s annoyed rather than entertained. Tibarn is just about ready to reprimand him, when—

“That’s a question to YOU, not to ME, you dirty rat!”

Well, that escalated quickly.

“Hold up, what’s this about?” He speaks out, but at this point he may as well be asking the air itself.

“You upset the horses on purpose, didn’t you? I knew that weird stuff I found in their feed yesterday didn’t come from nowhere. That’s what you have to stoop down to to prove the supposed superiority of your winged lizards?!”

“That’s one hell of an accusation, y’know. Sure hope you have some proof,” the flying knight proclaims with his chest puffed up, and it’s in this moment that Tibarn realizes his face is the most punchable thing he’s seen since Lekain.

As the Knights gather around just about ready to start throwing hands, the Hawk King winces and moves closer to Zasha, curious on how the other feels.

“What do you think?” He asks, hand on hip, as he watches what would usually be a prime court jester show if they weren’t in the middle of a fairly urgent mission. “Do we separate them, or just deliver the flowers by ourselves, or…?”

[deflere]

A fight is about to break out- that much was obvious. As clear outsiders to the entire case- after all, neither of them had a mount- they were both ignored by the growing tensions. For now, at least. Zasha thinks that if a line was forced to be drawn, it's likely they'd be roped in with winged mounts eventually.

He's not excited for that to happen, if it does.

“If the flowers wilt, we’ll have to go all the way back and try again." Neither a productive use of their time nor a particularly fun idea to follow through on, and Zasha makes his position clear with a flat intonation and a barely disguised look of irritation. "They’re not cheap, so I don't think the client or the monastery would be very happy to hear that we failed because of an argument like this."

It could be argued that his words were a calm assessment of the situation- and it was practical, certainly. If it aligned with his own personal desires, that was all the better.

"And even if they don't make it, there's no reason we can't."

Separating them was unproductive and would draw more attention to their situation than necessary; what sort of grudges they might have to those with their own wings, Zasha doesn’t know, but he also doesn’t want to find out.

“Let’s just leave them alone. Carry as much as we can. They can catch up with what’s left.”

There's also no need to take more than they could- the blame lies in those bickering, not those who had made a successful delivery. Flying a little lower to the ground- carefully out of sight of growing number of invested disputants, grabbing a few more bundles of the flowers before rising up to meet the other.

Still- despite his insistence, he doesn't set off immediately, waiting for Tibarn before he does.

[deflere]

what the hell is a wyvern

[landsbluod]

“Its blood, scattered on the ground.”

The words came out of her viciously, spat like venom from the fangs of the beasts themselves, and even as Lachesis stiffened, arms crossed over her stomach to glance about the courtyard of those who had agreed to come to this little seminar, she still heard the screech of the monsters echoed across the surface of the sea.

She took in a breath to level herself, bring her back to the present here and now, and glanced sharply at the young man who had found himself partnered with her for this. Her head cocked to one side, considering, before;

“Have you not seen one? There are stables here filled with the beasts.” Pointedly, she looked him in the eye, rather than at the conspicuous shape of black wings behind him. “No, I suppose the exercise is better done through guidance of one who has and one who has not, isn’t it?”

What a way to build trust.

A wyvern without being a wyvern. Some men in Agustria, hurt by the least of her rejections, might well have called her such a vile thing, once upon a time, though she did not say that here, sucking on those sharp teeth that had caused her such insult for a moment.

“It is difficult to describe them. They are…evil incarnate. Vicious and cold-blooded, shrieking monsters, wings that blot out the very light of the sun.”

A shake of her head. “And yet even this is insufficient to the terror they cause.”

[deflere]

If one thing- she is vivid, so vivid that Zasha does not do need to do much more than meet her gaze to know that she speaks from experience. He does so levelly- neither challenge nor acceptance in his eyes, as there is nothing more to say.

He knows what he sees, when she speaks, that the blood on the ground was red, certainly, but hardly more than fire, and what blots out the sky were not wings but smoke and banners raised on high.

"… Isn't it better that I haven't?" A rhetorical question- those who have already seen a wyvern could not very well unsee the creature, nor could those unfamiliar simply run and take a peek. But having seen or not was tangential to the depiction of the creature, after all, he must paint something that it was not.

Might as well start, then.

There were three reds that the paint set provided, and he uses all three, painting first in uncertain strokes before settling on more decisive gestures, coating his canvas in scarlet and black. As long as he doesn’t happen upon painting a wyvern itself, then he was free to do as he wished.

Once he stops, thinking back on her description does he look at her again, searching for further ideas.

“Evil incarnate is…” A strong statement- not a description he could very well paint. He wasn’t wrong with his initial assessment, he thinks, and her descriptions were certainly helpful. "Not something I know how to put on canvas."

“What else comes to mind?"

[deflere]

June Activity

Points Earned: 1

Check: Reason +1

Skill Changes:

Reason E -> Reason E+

[nyxanthemums]

Aftergloom

Non-Mission Board || Zasha

[nyxanthemums]

The scraping born from bristles replace what once was taping shoes. The tired groans of labor substitute the laughter that once filled the halls. The lavash suits and dresses are nowhere to be seen, only rolled up sleeves and dirtied shirts. But the most criminal surrogate was the champagne that once felt cold in between Nyx's fingertips was tragically swapped with the hard splintered handle of a mop.

If I knew faculty were forced to help out with the cleaning of the hall, I would have cursed myself ahead of time. That's the last time I let the Monastery get the jump on me.

Thankfully, there were fellow victims cleaning with her. Grief shared is divided and what not. What the sharing does at least means others must suffer the fate with her for once. Though cruel and slightly sinister, the feeling does bring a sense of comfort.

Turning to a nearby casualty, she speaks, not out of curiosity, but out of a fleeting sense of camaraderie, "So winged one, what failed excuse brought you here?"

@deflere

[deflere]

Winged one. What a strange address. If it had been spoken in his hometown, she probably would have been the subject to some ridicule. But they were not in Ast, nor any of its neighboring nations, and here, it was enough to know that she was speaking to him.

He sighs.

“I didn’t make one. It’s part of the job, either way.”

Meaning- there was no excuse that would matter. Or- that he would be compensated for his time regardless. Most optimistically- someone must, and it may as well be him.

But he doubts it matters that much to her, just as it didn't to him. There was a mess, and someone has to clean up. If not now, then next morning, if not then, the day after. Better sooner so any stains could still be removed, and the crumbs wouldn't attract mice.

And here, at least, he has no hesitation in continuing, "And, if we find anything without a clear owner, we can keep it.”

[aquaatics]

please stop random teleporting it doesn't help your case

zasha & azura | infamous: sword +1

[aquaatics]

Investigator Beatrice nods. "That's correct. But—"

"Someone who can fly!" Sir Marley outbursts, pointing a finger over at Zasha. "Part beast, and you," back at the investigator, "are trying to pin the murder on two people?"

Beatrice opens her mouth as if to say something, but Azura's frown deepens. She glances over at Zasha and his wings — really, they aren't out of the ordinary, considering she had once fought with the wolf known as Keaton — and then at Beatrice as Azura raises her hand. "Pardon me, investigator, but I believe that having wings should not immediately implicate a person in crime."

"I would argue otherwise," Sir Marley retorts. "Someone who can fly is more capable of covering their trail. And if the details of the case were accurate — that there were no footprints found to and from the body — then neither you nor I are capable of doing that. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Azura?"

Gold flickers over to meet Zasha's stare — and although the easy escape from this interrogation has been offered, Azura's gaze narrows at the unease it leaves in her gut. So a pause, and then, her nails dig into the back of her clasped hands.

"Anyone," she stares, "is capable of cleaning their own prints."

[deflere]

Part beast. Zasha bristles, but the man either doesn't notice or doesn't care, having found a new target for his accusations. This is what he gets for speaking while they were fighting.

"Certainly, but hardly as well as one that doesn't leave any behind." Sir Marley huffs, spirits dampened but not doused from a perceived ally not immediately coming to his defense.

Perhaps he had forgotten his earlier incessant accusations, or maybe he simply didn't think they meant anything. It was clearly bluster, and nothing of substance.

Unfortunately, the investigator seems to be considering him seriously, and Zasha wants to scoff- if he had flown in, there would still be signs.

“The body was found indoors,” He finally manages to interject, his expression growing stormy at the fact it took so long to get a word in, “So unless you make a habit of tracking mud into the bedroom, there are many easy ways to clear your tracks without flying.”

At least the lady- Azura, he picks out her name- hadn’t immediately swung over to the jabbering man’s side. If the both of them decide to accuse him, then the case was as good as closed. 

Even if they were wrong. Actually,

"Marley." Zasha tilts his head, putting one hand at his side in a gesture that could have easily been mistaken as reaching for his sword. "You've been awfully eager to accuse both me and the lady over there. You don't happen to be hiding any sort of evidence that makes you so confident, do you?"

[hermidetta]

*⚘ come to amiibo gazebo in 15 minutes for an ass kicking

⠀ herald '26 ⚘ bernadetta & zasha ⠀

[hermidetta]

whoever they are, they're messing with the wrong person. bernadetta von varley is not to be crossed lest horrible things befall you...

or so she wants to believe. but as she hops out of the bushes and onto the leisurely platform, clapping the leaves and twigs off of her person, she doesn't look like a force to reckon with at all. she looks like a sleep-deprived student who's skipping class again. (she is a sleep-deprived student who's skipping class again.)

“alright!” she cries out with all her might, eyes squeezed tight, thrusting an accusatory finger across the gazebo at the figure occupying one seat. “bernie's here! let's go! y-you're really asking for it, mister! or miss! or respectfully whatever you prefer, but disrespectfully as in i'm really gonna hurt you either way! w-well, maybe unless you're just a child or a little old gran—”

one by one, her eyes crack open.

“wait... i-it's you?!”

mister (she thinks), winged, and hopefully old enough for her to deliver an ass beating without legal repercussions. but he'd been so kind. he had saved her from the light (who likes the light, anyway?) and had even gifted her a rose by the end of it. she thought she'd been able to trust—

no, trust probably isn't the right word—not with paranoia written into everything she was, and bernadetta knew it. she really should have known it. maybe she had just forgotten herself, too caught up in the flowers and festivities of last night's event.

“i shouldn't have let my guard down!” what were you thinking, bernie? you're so stupid! “w-well, you picked the wrong shut-in to blackmail!”

her gaze darts around. left, right, above, below. but unless the little dessert rack on the table counted as a proper bludgeon, she found nothing of use. the rocks weren't nearly large enough to properly smash into his head.

“hey, is that strawberry?” her finger lowers, gray eyes lighting up at said dessert rack, but she quickly remembers herself. “i-i mean, i hate strawberry! only bad people like strawberry! s-so maybe you should give it to me and i'll consider letting you go... a-ah! wait, i can't! you still know too much!” / @deflere

[deflere]

Someone’s forgotten to put away their tea snacks. There is an array of them abandoned on the unused tea-table- teacups and plates already cleared, chairs neatly tucked. All in order, save the little trays of cakes and confectioneries that remain on the metal rack in the center, glistening displays of sugar and fruit.

There isn't anyone around. Zasha pulls out one of the seats, settling in as if he belonged. It was uncomfortable, the backing a little too high for him to settle his wings over, but too wide to rest around- as most chairs were.

He'd only managed to rest for a minute, maybe less, when someone jumps out of the bushes in a flurry of purple and slew of frantic words. She’s one of the students he met during the ball, he thinks, this time in uniform and pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

Maybe the table was hers?

He stands up. If he’s quick about it, maybe she’ll leave him alone- he doesn't think he's done anything wrong, but evidently that experience was not shared. Her next words stop him from simply leaving, however, and he looks her over with a mix of confusion and concern.

“…Blackmail?”

That, after all, was a bigger problem. He doesn’t even know her name, much less anything to blackmail her with- but he wouldn't have guessed her to be the target of blackmail. Maybe prejudice on his part, but he'd think there'd be nothing to work with.

“You’re being blackmailed?”

[thracianblood]

a penny for your silence

MISSION BOARD: Infamous - Gauntlets +1

[thracianblood]

It just so happens that this witness actually cared for rules and order. Perfect. Just perfect.

Travant thought he would only see a person with wings in books of myths and fairytales. Always with the new discoveries in this place... At least it isn't another one of those people looking to pick on him.

"Heh," he smirks. "They shouldn't be investing into such poorly made things in the first place. What does a bunch of scrap metal do that a Knight of Seiros doesn't already?" Granted, he doesn't know what exactly goes on behind the scenes. The fact that no knight bothers to check up on Abyss only implies their incompetence, as far as he's concerned.

"I'm only here to... send a message." Travant twists his hand slowly, watching the way the the light reflects against the 'eye' and playing with the bright spot that forms on the floor. "You can take the parts for yourself, you know. They might be brittle as a sum, but I'm sure their components fetch a pretty price. We can both turn a blind eye and pretend none of this happened."

[deflere]

“…” The destruction wrecked tells Zasha more than the man ever would, and he isn't interested in his excuses, either. Eyes scan over the trail of destruction- shattered glass and metal scraps all across the ground. It didn’t matter if it was the flimsiest material known to man, the monastery pays him to keep an eye on it, either way.

Maybe the knights were a more irresponsible bunch than he had originally thought, if someone thinks it’ll be that easy to pay off one of their members. He was clearly relaxed about the whole affair, at least- playing with the evidence of his havoc right in front of him.

Or maybe Zasha just doesn't look the part. A fair observation, if so.

“I’m not stupid.” Is his response, blunt. “If I sell these parts, it’ll get traced back to me- and I’m not taking the fall for you.”

[cotharach]

— AND WHY AREN'T YOU IN UNIFORM ?

this laundromat is fighting on the side of shadow dawg

[cotharach]

"I see," Her brows creased, "so it seems you, too, are a victim of the academy's laundry staff…"

There had been more she wished to say: something along the lines of 'please return that at once!' or 'that dress is rightfully mine!' but, in a departure from her normally gregarious self, she had clamped her tongue down with sheepishness. The man's tone was cold, laced with an edge that she was certain could slice. Flayn knew better than to risk its blade.

"You see, I approached you because it just so happens that you are wearing my uniform, which I would very much like back." Her gaze flitted up and down in appraisal, "However, it would not do for you to walk these halls without any clothes."

Flayn hummed. She pulled at her sleeves, which she had rolled up several times over, then looked back at the man, who wore her beautiful dress like a tunic.

"...Ah!" She exclaimed after some time, "I can help you search for your missing clothes. That shall help with your time issue. But before that, I propose we swap. These long robes shall surely fit a man of your stature better." Flayn nodded. This seemed like a very good plan to her, "Now, it is only a matter of finding some place where we may discreetly exchange clothing."

[deflere]

Therein lies the problem. Zasha doesn’t want to stand around shirtless while he waits for the girl to change- but he certainly doesn’t want her to undress somewhere she could be seen just for the sake of swapping clothing.

Though, he’d rather choose the lesser of two evils if he can. “We can find an empty classroom. I’ll guard the door while you change inside.”

Now looking at her, she looked familiar- not in the sense that he should know her (if her clothing was any indication, they likely have never spoken- and would not have, if it weren’t for the laundry service’s mistake)- but in the sense that he has seen her, and not just once either.

Was it her hair?

“…”

Shit. She was that official’s sister, wasn’t she? What was his name- Seteth? If he knows anything about them, it's that he was overprotective over her. If anyone spreads news about how he wore her uniform around…

All the better to get this situation over quickly, then.

[deflere]

May Activity

Points Earned: 1

Sword +1

Skill Changes:

Sword D+ -> Sword C

Claims:

Dancer (Ethereal Ball 2026) [Pending] Forget-Me-Not Tommorow (Ethereal Ball 2026) [Pending] Killing Edge (Sword C) [Pending] Mercenary (Sword C) [Pending] Thief (Sword C) [Pending]

[deflere]

what the hell is a wyvern

[deflere]

The Fine Arts division has put up a small bounty for the best painter-model duo come the end of the moon to stir up motivation! Artists are encouraged to scope out the best model and draw up the best replication of…a wyvern without actually being a wyvern? With such a specific requirement, do you approach potential partners with the truth? Or is method acting the way to go? [Grants Flying +1] starter for @landsbluod

Painting’s a fine activity for someone with time and money to spare- Zasha has time abundant, debatably, but hardly the funds to purchase all the materials necessary. The workshop promises the latter as long as you provide the former, though even that was not a particularly inviting proposal (whatever he creates won't be worth much, both in monetary or emotional value), until he hears that he’d be able to keep the unused supplies alongside his finished product, no matter what it was.

That being said- an abstract concept was difficult enough for a beginner, much less an abstract concept of a word he didn’t recognize. But paints have been handed (a small tube for an array of colors so wide that he has to stop and admire them for a moment) and canvases distributed, so might as well put some effort.

At least he has a model. Or helper- or something in between. Depends on what he learns, he supposes. She looks important, or at least she looks like she’s used to being important- not that there was much of a difference.

Zasha’s not eager to make a fool of himself, but it’s not like he has to paint a 'wyvern' but a 'wyvern without actually being a wyvern', which meant that his understanding was secondary to the skill of being close enough.

Was it better that he didn't know? Maybe then he won't be tempted to simply paint a 'wyvern' itself. So, he starts with: “What is the most important part of a wyvern for you?”

[deflere]

[ SEQUESTER ] - Some rooms remain unused, and while by the padlocks on their doors you suspect they are meant to remain that way, some poor sap seems to have forgotten to make sure they were locked properly. They make for an excellent space away from the chaos of the rest of the ball—though you may not be the first one there.

Somebody is going to get a talking-to next morning, Zasha can tell- rooms that should be locked instead fully open- letting students and guests mingle in them. Some of them, storage rooms, are thankfully less of an attraction than those more suited to those with cushions or seats for people searching for a place to rest.

There were probably materials that the church didn't want others to touch. Unfortunately for the church, unpopular did not mean undisturbed.

“You’re not allowed to be in here,” Zasha warns, pushing open a door left slightly ajar to see the silhouette of ears peeking about a pile of unlabelled boxes. Though on closer inspection…

The boxes were supposed to have labels, it looks like.

“… What are you doing?”