elysium.

the ashen demon walks where the monsters cannot, surviving until the end. he is not alone. ( not even for a second. )

[elysieth]

{ ▲ – a surprise hug!!

you look like you could use a hug / ▲ – a surprise hug.

♢ ` —       ah, he wonders what is for lunch today. it was always something tasty. it would be better if it was plainer food. but byleth rarely complains when something's put in front of them. food was food. he wondered if they might bring back those potato dumplings. they were tasty, he thinks. simple ———— the chefs had been quite willing to oblige at first, but it turns out they can only fold so many at once. it also turns out that feeding a much-famished byleth required more than they were capable of sustaining without incidentally causing a small famine in the neighboring village. but byleth wasn't so selfish ————— at least outloud.

      rounding the corner, he manages to make it only a few steps before he hears the sudden sound of footsteps. muscle tenses involuntarily. hand goes to reach for his sword, but the relic is nowhere to be found. ah, he must have left it in the training hall again. how careless of him. mind clicks ahead, a thousand paces faster than what his body would allow. he had a knife, but it was not as easy to blunt an injury on someone as he could with the sword of the creator.

      ( serrated at the edge as it was, there was still the knobbier parts that could cause less grievous a wound. )

      he doubts it would be an assailant in broad daylight. it could be a student. but he —————— the footsteps grow closer. no time to think. cape flutters and he catches the figure that comes charging straight at him, his hands lightly secured about the girl's waist as he determines whether or not to hold her aloft or crush her in his hands. gaze flicks to the uniform, then to her face. five, four, three ——— a flicker of recognition crosses his expression as he slowly sets the young girl back down on her feet. "maria." he gives her a thumbs up. she hadn't managed to land a fatal blow, but if he hadn't noticed then he's sure she would have succeeded. "an open area like this is good to surprise your enemies." he taps his forehead.

      "they will not see you coming."

[elysieth]

✢ :grimacing:

you look like you could use a hug / ✢ – an awkward hug.

♢ ` —       he's not sure what to do with this. navy blue roams the sheet. byleth blinks once, then twice ———— was archbishop rhea certain that he was to give these to her? another glance is spared in the direction of the mousy-looking girl in front of him, the poor thing cowering and trembling like a leaf in the wind. even he feels kind of bad for her, he thinks. and he often didn't feel much anything at all, save for hunger. occasionally, he might feel tired. professor looks between the sheet, then the girl, then the sheet, then the bundle of herbs neatly tied together in his gloved hand. lady rhea asked him to give a few to some students that were a bit nervous.

      they were so far from home, she said.

      wouldn't it be nice for him, as a professor, to help?

      ( what did it feel like, to be sad to be away from home? )

      she did seem quite sad.

      byleth looks at the herbs again. then, at the list ———————— not a student of his house, but another. lips part imperceptibly. "bernadetta," he begins slowly. uncertainly, before he moves his arm almost mechanically to offer her the bundle of herbs. "archbishop rhea asked for me to." they smelled quite strange. he doesn't know what they're meant for or even what they'll do. he supposes it doesn't matter. it's none of his business. once she takes it, he offers a polite nod before raising his arms. no, she's too short. he scoops from under. no, that seemed impolite. um ———— slowly, byleth kneels to the floor. kneepads scrape against the stone as he waddles a bit closer, arms extended to bring the girl into a bit of an awkward hug. his head is still on top of hers, but ————

      "pat, pat."

      there, that should be sufficient. and byleth shuffles away.

[oopsiewoopsie123]

⨳ — TYPES OF HUGS;

send one for my muse's reaction!

♥ – A romantic hug ☺ – A friendly hug ♫ – A hug while dancing ✉ – A hug goodbye ღ – A hug in greeting ❣ –A hug after being separated ✪ –A sleepy hug ✢ – An awkward hug ♢ – A familial hug ⊗ – A quick hug ☄ – A long hug ✾ – A passionate hug ☀ – A hug from behind ▲ – A surprise hug ☑ – A polite hug ✸ – A bear hug ✚ – A hug while cuddling ‽ – A hug around the waist ♠ – A squeezing hug ❋ – A silent hug ♣ – A spinning hug

[elysieth]

♢ ` —       he doesn't really get it. it seemed like a lot of work. wouldn't it just be easier for people to tell one another that they wanted each other to be happy? but, he supposes it is not that easy —————— byleth often struggled to do so themself. it was hard. finding the words to say, deciding on what it was that people wanted to hear and often ( almost always ) falling short. they'd thought to answer a few of the missives that the priest'd asked them to when he entered the cathedral instead of participating in the campaign, but even now they're not sure they'd answered them right. he had added a smile at the end.

      he hopes that makes it easier to tell it was with good intentions.

      but maybe he'd said something careless again ——————

      he wasn't very much good with writing his feelings either, it seems. but it seems insensitive to not do anything while the students and faculty ran across campus in a desperate search to thank one another. it takes considerable time and research to ensure that they were abiding by custom and tradition before byleth is able to tie off the ribbons one-by-one for small assortments of candies and sweets. each left on the desk of the young students entrusted to them, though any mention or query of why they are there without a tag or message is left unanswered.

      ( it is unfortunate that byleth once again was bamboozled by decorative soaps and purchased those instead of treats. it's the thought that counts. )

[toa-advicebox]

I've never cared much for others before coming here. But now that I've begun to feel such things as affection, I'm realizing a lot—— like the fact that it's absurdly... painful. Once the thrill of it subsides, it starts to hurt more than anger or melancholy. I don't understand why. I don't know if I should fight these feelings or not. Does it really hurt this much? Caring for others, I mean... or am I just doing things wrong?

[elysieth]

♢ ` —       as compared to the other brief notes scattered across the table, this one appears to run a little longer. there's a stutter of ink across the page as if the writer is uncertain in his awkward scrawl. one puddle of ink seems larger than the others. the parchment is lightly imprinted with the tip of a quill. a smear, where a hand once laid as its writer considers his words carefully. words are crossed out, again and again ———————— until there is only a small section remains legible.

i don't know. it's very new to me too. new things are usually good. so, i think these feelings are good. i hope it makes you happy. happy is new to me too. i like it very much.

[toa-advicebox]

there's someone i find myself growing to like, but i fear scaring them off because of my ... strong aura and brash speech. is there a way to remedy this?

[elysieth]

      have you tried to stop talking? :)

[toa-advicebox]

My employer has never appreciated me the way they should. I have never been properly thanked for all of the many times I've gone above and beyond the call of duty. I have asked numerous times for some very modest rewards and incentives but it always lands upon deaf ears. I don't think it's so much to ask for a raise or extra accomodations for all that I so very graciously provide. What must I do to allow them to see my worth?

[elysieth]

      quit. :)

[toa-advicebox]

What do you gift someone who wants for nothing, not flowers or chocolate or other traditions of the day?

[elysieth]

      get them nothing.

      if they want a gift, they should tell you what they want.       if this is about me, though, please know i like most weapons       and fishing. i also like to eat. please do not buy me soap.

      thank you. :)

[toa-advicebox]

[It's a nervous note with many words scribbled out that finds its way into the box. Some edges are torn off. What makes it in in the end is a simple, short question.] How do I get him to stop thinking I'm worthless?

[elysieth]

      you can't.

      it is hard to convince people things. it isn't worth the time.       it isn't worth the thought. you are as you are. that is enough.

      p.s. bodies are very valuable. i am worth at least several handfuls of gold.

[elysieth]

Fish Sorcery || dimitri & m!byleth

elegiac-boar:

Closed starter for @elysieth

Ever since returning from the mission at Brigid, Dimitri has taken most of his available time off to rest. Not only physically, but mentally as well. However, as spring slowly made its way in, Garreg Mach’s pacing only sped up in time to celebrate the incoming warmth of summer and promises of abundant fertile soil and game. 

There wasn’t much time to rest, but the Crown Prince wasn’t complaining. Much, at least.

As always, his sleep was rather short. Disturbed by dreams that now were just fuzzy, incoherent memories in his mind, he was never one to be able to sleep much making him one of the early birds at the Academy. Temperature wasn’t too hot yet so Dimitri settled with his usual uniform, the deep blue cape cascading proudly over his left shoulder. 

And so the blond Prince made his way through numerous halls in the monastery, greeting staff and guards with a polite nod or bow. His walk was aimless, at a slower pace as he took in the smell of flowers that had just bloomed and the comfortable breeze that swayed leaves around.

Actually he was just trying to get his mind off one thing: water.

Ever since they all returned from Brigid, Dimitri started to feel a considerable discomfort around bodies of water. It wasn’t exactly fear…or at least he didn’t want to believe it was.

Yet his supposedly aimless walk took him to the monastery’s ponds, right in time for the Seasonal Fishing Competition. There he was, holding on a fishing rod that had been just handed to him by staff, standing right at the end of the cursed pier, staring into the deep blue abyss (in reality the pond wasn’t that deep at all). The Prince started to breathe more deeply, feeling cold sweat already.

‘Come on Dimitri, it is just…a pond. And you have to fish so that others can eat! Do your duty!’ He attempted to hammer it in his mind. Get that dang fish Dimitri! It’s just fish! It doesn’t have Nosferatu!

Throwing the bait into the pond, he sighed. He didn’t want to stare at the water, so he settled with looking around. Uneventful really, until a familiar silhouette was spotted.

     “Professor!” Dimitri perked up, waving at Byleth. “Good morning!”

♢ ` —       "this one is a bullhead." dark black glove lightly touches the yellowing parchment. on it, a perfectly illustrated fish draped over an unknown knee. the foot rests against a flat rock, which appears to be the lone occupant of a green riverbank. byleth adjusts their own footing against the barrel, placing the packet of illustrations against their thigh as navy eyes flick down to their hands. it takes a few tries to estimate the length. was this close enough? he gestures about two feet. "i caught it at the airmid river. it was winter." but he thought the green would look nicer in the illustration. it was quite difficult to color and illustrate snow, they think.

      byleth picks up the stack again and boot returns to the ground. "the next one is a platinum fish — oh." hand is half-lifted again to point to the next illustration before the professor realizes that the person they'd been speaking to long vacated the area. pausing, they look at their booklet and frowns before neatly tucking it away back into a pocket. that, was ————— unfortunate. they knew it wouldn't make for a good conversation starter. ever since their return to the monastery, people approached them now. a little more readily than before, but they wonder if that is because they are bathing more regularly now as had been insisted by his peers when they were away from the monastery. hands gently pat at his cheeks.

      ———— or maybe, did he look friendlier?

      but, they aren't smiling.

      their eyes aren't any different. they gently touch their forehead. their eyebrows don't even crinkle together. maybe this was what was unsettling to people. the others always did so easily. the thought occurs next: maybe they're just ugly? navy blue gaze returns to the ground as he shuffles a bit awkwardly between the throngs of students and faculty that have come to try their hand at the fishing competition. byleth'd thought to come and participate, but mostly it was in hopes of finding a like-minded peer in either the students or in the faculty. it was proving difficult. they'd promised themselves that they would try harder for their students and for themself, but it begins to feel like trying isn't ever going to be enough. sighing, byleth trudges to the pier with fishing pole in hand. maybe they needed to just try again tomorrow.

      maybe they just needed to clear their head.

      byleth blinks once. twice, as they find a blond head of hair instead of viridian or emerald. ' PROFESSOR! ' the figure exclaims. it takes a second for the name to come. "oh, dimitri." he murmurs, closing the distance between the two in a few quick strides. "hello." a pause as he looks to the sky, then turns his attention to fiddling with his fishing line. this was another opportunity. what did the book suggest? byleth nearly reaches for the illustrations again.

      no, that hadn't worked last time.

      try again.

      "it's ———— nice today," is all byleth manages.

[elysieth]

variable undefined.

seraphiia:

     She thought to give him a bit of a helpful push, perhaps expound on some questions that he, along with the other students, might have had on magical theory. It was a topic she studied extensively in the church, and though there were differences between Valentian and Fodlan magic, the fundamental basics were the same. So Celica sits, gaze focused and posture straight, as she waits for the Professor’s response.

     But in another surprising turn of events, he turns to the chalkboard, and begins… drawing, instead. Celica can’t say she quite understands the story his series of pictures were trying to convey, but if he wanted her to contribute, then—

     Confused or no, she certainly couldn’t refuse.

     An awkward smile appears on her face as the students around her begin whispering, mystified (or, frustrated) by the Professor’s oddness, and Celica rises from her seat, approaching the head of the class and taking the piece of chalk from his hand. Her smile falls into a look of concentration as she nears the board, brows furrowing as she wonders: how to salvage this?

     She draws an arrow going away from the snowman, before drawing a swirl (her poor artistic excuse for a gust of wind), and then a jagged line (a bolt of lightning). Celica bites her lip, highly doubtful that this was going well at all, and draws a sun with a smiling face. Light. Next to it, she draws an uneven, lumpy circle—a shadowy blob, being her intention—with a frowning face. Dark.

     Celica then draws an arrow leading from each crude sketch, pointing them all at a stick figure: her attempt at a person. The most well known elements, each one a potential affinity attached to a living being’s soul. She would hope the Professor would understand something this simple, that it would be enough to help him start with the lesson.

     Head inclines as she turns to Professor Byleth, handing the chalk back to him. Her composure and regal bearing makes a jarring contrast with the horrible art on the board. The awkward smile returns. Celica could have easily offered an explanation, but was that what he even wanted? Was this some sort of test? 

     She… had absolutely no instruction here. “T-this… is what you wanted, I hope?”

♢ ` —       he says nothing as she adds her own drawings to accompany his, only passively observing. byleth wonders if this is what traditional schooling must be like. the drawings add a kind of variety that he'd noticed was missing on the board earlier before he'd cleaned it for the lecture. notes were all well and good, but he didn't very much learn that way. though, in retrospect, he'd never really learned much anything that wasn't immediately put into application. when they nod, at last, in understanding, byleth turns to face the classroom. students stare back, blank-faced and uncertain. no more convinced than they'd been an hour earlier.

      he pauses, then points to the figure on the board.

      they stare back.

      chalk strikes the board again.

      nothing.

      byleth shifts uneasily on his feet, his hand resting against the back of his neck as he looks between celica and the illustrations once more. he didn't understand. why weren't they understanding? it seemed quite clear now. all the kinds of magics that there were could be learned by any one individual. that was what all the arrows meant. the connections didn't exist, which is why the arrow jumped over the ' X ' which was to suggest that they couldn't learn it. that was what was in the notes and celica, similarly, seemed to understand it enough. the students mumble angrily. he can hear the sound of some chairs scraping across the ground as some take their leave from the classroom. he hears a few loudly complaining about how it was a waste of time.

      navy eyes lower to the ground, gloved hands fumbling with the piece of chalk.

      he knew he wasn't well-suited to this. the disappointment does not show in his expression as he hears other students grumble, adding that this was the only lecture available still to get additional credit for their reason classes. more sigh in relief that this just means that they don't need to take notes. he turns to look at celica, nodding at her before tilting his head towards the seats apologetically. she'd tried. just as he'd tried. he didn't have enough of a head for this. he would give her extra credit.

      and he would give himself a frowny face.

[elysieth]

rubber ducky, you’re the one

eideslanze:

     He could be doing all manner of things right now. Performing maintenance on his armor and lance. Making sure Erhardt isn’t causing a fuss in the makeshift stable housing him. Patrolling the village perimeter again, even. Anything but standing watch as Byleth sits in a tub, clumps of mud coming off the man’s clothes where they’ve been soaked through and dirtying the water with the muck.

     Gloved fingers pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh. ‘Mila, grant me strength.’

     “Has anyone ever told you that people usually undress when they bathe?” Fernand finally asks, fabric and metal shifting as arms fold over his chest. “The water isn’t going to clean you with the filth from your clothes seeping into it.”

     Much as he hates to impose more than they already have, he thinks they’ll have to request another tub’s worth of water. And perhaps a bucket, too.

♢ ` —       he looks to the man, then back to his duckling. byleth nods, slowly. of course he knows that most people usually took off their clothes when they bathed. but it seemed to make sense to just wear them into the water. he needed to wash his clothes anyways. if he also washed himself at the same time, that was a net gain for everyone. though, he supposes he cannot quite get clean with the water. no longer clear, just muddied like what he'd seen in the swamp.

      he leans over the edge of the tub and sets the duckling down.

      it waddles off.

      there is a pause before byleth speaks up at last. "i'm shy." he answers, though the tone of their voice far from suggests it. their arms cross over their chest as byleth turns their eyes away. it seemed like a poor idea to undress while in public. they are almost certain one of the mercenaries had been fined for it once and byleth had no money. but they wouldn't let him inside, either —

[elysieth]

rubber ducky, you’re the one

@eideslanze

♢ ` —       he doesn't understand really. he'd intended to go to bed, but it seemed like the others were quite concerned about it. asked him to step outside, but with his knees are tucked up close to his chest and his armor clanking together as he shifts uneasily inside of the wide wooden tub? it's only now he realizes that they'd meant for him to bathe. tara'd set out the water for him, but it was already beginning to get cold. blinking, he stares back up at the other professor. he's already forgotten the man's name. this is who they'd tasked with taking care of him.

      but byleth knew how to bathe.

      he doesn't know why they acted like he didn't.

      the thought crosses his mind if he should go ahead and start to make a roster to keep track of his peers, then realizes it must seem quite strange for him if he did. so, instead, byleth resigns himself to the quiet anonymity. eyes fall to the small duckling that's settled into his bath, already mucky with the mud that slides off of his person. "ah," he frowns, gently picking it up with gloved hands. duckling flutters its wings. it tilts its head. byleth does too. "you will get dirty, little one."

[elysieth]

welcome to red lobster | plateau, a.

eideslanze·:

     At some point after passing off the sword to Inigo, he finds himself observing the game Larcei is engaging in. Dubiously useful prize enters her possession after a moment, and the dealer suggests another round—which is wisely declined, the girl stepping away from the machine with bottle in hand. As if emulating a real person, the projection’s gaze fixes on Fernand instead with a wide, predatory smile. “And you, sir? I know you’re all looking for something.”

     “No, thank you. I think we’ve had quite enough games for one day,” ex-knight says as politely as he can manage, taking a step back. He doesn’t like that look in the dealer’s eyes at all; has seen it before on the likes of another thankfully buried six feet under.

     “Are you suuuuure?” The specter leans forward. “One of these days you’ll win big, y’know?”

     Brows furrow, a scowl forming on fair features. A taunt that might have been effective if directed at the vengeful, bitter man of a year past, who needed no excuses to rise to the bait and snap back. That man had a penchant for poor judgment calls without even realizing they were poor judgment calls, and see where that had gotten him. “You’ve just stated in no uncertain terms that you intend to ‘bleed us dry’.” Rather literally at that, given what the alternative option to using those cards entails. He’s almost astounded to see others actually taking the risk. “With all due respect, I’ll pass.” They’re good to no one missing, much less dead.

     “Aww. Well, there’s always someone that doesn’t understand the nature of give and take,” the dealer says, feigning disappointment before scattering in a cloud of bright, glittering dust. Good riddance, Fernand thinks, stepping around the mess on the floor again and backtracking to the kitchen. There had been another set of doors no one spared much thought at the time, and—

     That bucket hadn’t been there before. Slowly takes a step toward it to find it filled and housing a fish ( from those glass tanks they’d fought near earlier…? ) plus a handful of greens. Alright then.

     Nobleman pushes past previously untouched doors to find a narrow and musty passage on the other side, a low ceiling forcing him to duck as he ventures further in. The space seems to shrink ever smaller until Fernand has to crouch low to the ground, shuffling forward on armored knees ( and the amount of noise every scrape makes, gods help him ) to reach a door seemingly designed to accommodate dwarves. Peers into the porthole set into it to see… several pairs of feet darting in and out of the little window’s line of sight—one of which he vaguely recognizes as Clair’s. If he listens, the sound of fighting is audible as well, and isn’t that just great.

     The reverse shuffle to get out of there is an awkward one, nearly hitting his head when he’s able to stand mostly upright again and hasten back through the doors. Gives the bucket one more baffled glance for the road before navigating his way back to the game room.

tag, @elysieth !

♢ ` —       while the others investigate the tables and machines, byleth instead examines the half of a shell that remains in his hands. with its contents emptied now into his stomach, the shell's quite pretty. byleth wonders if it might make for a good gift to bring back to jeralt. but he supposes that the man wouldn't care for it much. it wasn't a sword. it also wasn't a drink, though he'd eaten it as one. the texture was quite chewy. salty, too ——— the navy-haired man smacks his lips a few times more as if it'd bring back the taste to memory, but he finds nothing to say. he doesn't like it though.

      but he doesn't hate it either. he wonders if the chefs at the monastery would know what to do with it. or, uh —— he pauses. which one of the students was good at cooking again?

      he tosses out the shell as fernand leaves the room.

      byleth's eyes follow, stands at the edge of the narrowing hallway as fernand passes by him again on his retreat to the gameroom. safety ————— he needed to make sure that they came back safely. no more running off. but to keep the students safe, he needed to check ahead. so byleth follows the path already tread, ducking his head low as the ceiling lowers and lowers before he's found himself on his hands and knees. the sound of fighting on the other side of the doors make him move faster. kneeguards scrape against the floor, but elbow forces its way through before the rest of him follows. "ah!" mercenary tumbles out across the floor, byleth hurrying to his feet and nearly tripping over his cape in the effort. he straightens, eyes flicking to the students, professors and knights across the room.

      the others, again —————

      how much of this place overlapped?

      from the periphery, one of their newfound enemies lunges for them. sword is drawn fluidly and byleth cuts through —

byleth rolls a 13 ( hit )! bouncer 2, 2 / 5 and byleth, 9.5 / 10.

      red ( teal? ) drips to the floor from their blade, byleth stepping back as the guard stumbles forward and swipes at him with some odd mechanical device. it grazes him, but isn't enough to send him falling to the floor at least. hand unconsciously rests on his ribs to protect them. just in case.

@theindigoflirt

[elysieth]

welcome to red lobster | plateau, a.

keen-kin:

The catfish may have seemed dangerous at first, but it’s really quite pathetic. After Inigo was able to simply dance out of the way, it turns to attack Larcei. But she was having none of that. As it lunges forward, Larcei barely has to sidestep to avoid it. She almost laughs at the sight of it weakly moving towards her, sword in fin. Maybe if they were underwater it’d have a sliver of a chance. 

Catfish roll: -1 - complete miss! 

Larcei doesn’t miss the opportunity to strike as the fish helplessly flops forward. With the same energy she’s put into every strike so far, she slams her blade into the catfish’s back, making it let out a fishy gasp. Great, her sword is even filthier now. The catfish is not quite dead yet, but it’s severely weakened, only just holding on. Larcei knows it’ll only take one more attack to kill it. 

Attack roll: 13 - critical hit! 1.5 damage dealt to Shad. [Shad health: 0.5]

Seeing that Byleth is now prepared to make another attack, she makes sure she won’t be in his way (and in a good position to watch his sword skills. That is why he’s a professor after all). “How are ya doing?” She asks Inigo. He’s taken a bit of a beating so far, and whilst he’s acting as casual as usual, there is concern. “I read that those crab legs can make you feel better.”

Next: @elysieth. Finish him! 

♢ ` —       it's nice when they once they find a rhythm. he'd hoped that they wouldn't run into trouble so soon after dispatching the two herons. fernand makes quick work of the crawfish. when the creatures lash out, so too do the students. across the way, he watches as the others wage battle against their own enemies. another falls to larcei, to whom byleth only offers a thumbs up before he turns his attention to inigo. watchful gaze lingering only just as blade cleaves flesh from bone for another monster. a soft exhale. he should do his part too. stepping forward, he lifts his blade to strike only for larcei to make another go of it herself.

      he doubles back, a quiet gasp escaping in surprise.

      he'd almost hurt her.

byleth rolls a 7 ( barely hit )! catfish, 0 / 3.

      she steps aside and byleth lunges forward. this time, faster to avoid another near mistake as last time. his sword carving out the fish and sludge splatters in an arc across the floor. it falls, flopping with a desperate gasp before it eventually stops moving. byleth exhales in relief once he's certain that his ribs wouldn't be a target for a third time. his sword still in hand, he turns to face larcei. navy eyes lift to meet inigo's and his expression softens. he'd thought to scold them and remind them that neither of them should have lunged ahead without warning them. it was one thing for him to, but —

      but nothing.

      he should know better too.

      byleth pauses, turning to face fernand. "sorry," he offers, before he turns to gently place his hand on larcei's shoulder. "good job." his gaze meets inigo's. "you too."

      byleth smiles.

      turning away, he returns his sword to his side. "ah, i'm going," is all he manages before continuing ahead and makes his way down another hallway. "oh, i've found the others." greetings are exchanged, but the same conclusion is drawn. the more of them there are, the better they know of the area. they're huddled over a machine, though he can't make heads or tails of what it is. so, he takes to the rest of the room for exploration instead and finds another machine of equal interest. dice dance, light flash. the directions remain. he doesn't understand. what does that? mean?

      leaning down, he finds a small dip. oh. extending his hand to one of the others, he asks for one of the oysters that were collected from the herons before attempting to brazenly shove it into the hole and finds little success. instead, byleth steps aside for the others to give it a go whilst smacking the oyster around on the nearest flat surface. the shell eventually gives way, shattering but not without first cutting the side of his finger. it smells fishy. he stares. sniffs. inspects it, then turns away to politely slurp.

      gross.

      he slurps more anyway.

byleth's hp is back up to 10! DO NOT LOOK AT HIM, @eideslanze!

[elysieth]

hell’s tavern

theindigoflirt​:

Vetch stares at the ale for a moment, sliding his hooded eyes over to Inigo. Doesn’t break eye contact as the barfly takes a slow sip from the cup. Inigo ignores the arrival of his fellow Garreg Mach residents in favor of attempting to pass whatever test Vetch is currently administering. 

The mug clinks against the counter. Vetch wipes his mouth with the back of a hand. “Blackjack.” Tara appears at Inigo’s side, wiping her hands on a towel. Vetch simply nods at the woman, while Inigo gives her a wide smile. Vetch pushes the dice off to the side, shuffling his worn cards with expert hands. Hands them off to Tara, who spilts the deck in half. 

Inigo tilts his head. “Not playing, my dear Tara?” She snorts, shaking her head. “I know better than to play against Vetch.”

That’s not comforting. Inigo pushes down a flare of nervousness. What harm can come out of a simple game? “You do know how to play, right kid?” Tara asks. Inigo shrugs a bit. He’s played once or twice, but he doesn’t call himself an expert. A sigh from the barkeeper before she launches into an explanation, dealing the cards while she speaks. 

A seven for Vetch, a five for Inigo. Alright. Not a great start, but it could be worse! The next card comes spinning his way, a stain of unknown origin marring the white surface of a three. Inigo frowns down at his cards. Tara flips her own card, revealing a five. 

Things begin moving a little faster; Vetch taps two fingers on the table and Tara tosses him another card. Inigo squints in the dim bar light, calculating the total—eighteen to his eight. Dancer copies Vetch’s hand motion, earning him one more three. Eleven. 

Tara deals herself a final card, now sitting pretty with an eighteen as well. Vetch spares a pitiful glance at Inigo’s eleven, before taking another sip of ale. “Seems Lady Fate isn’t on my side tonight, eh?” The swordsman jokes, even if he’s starting to sweat a bit. 

♢ ` —       he counts through the coins before pocketing it without a second thought. byleth only nods as his answer that the tip is sufficient. he wonders if he could buy a boot with this. maybe if he was lucky, he could buy two boots. he wishes they sold them in pairs. deep in thought, it takes a moment before he can register that someone'd even spoken to him and eyes return to the blond man standing beside him. a knight, he recalls. a knight with a name. good with a small blade, quiet as a mouse if he wanted to be. he silently wonders if they might be cut from the same cloth. but, byleth was never particularly good at asking questions.

      he was less good at answering them. as if ashamed, his eyes return to the floor.

      "———— no," to answer the question.

      head lifts again, the ends of his dark blue hair curling at the nape of his neck as he offers a thumbs up. his expression betrays nothing. "a lesson in bill collection." he answers. the job almost never came up. more often than not, the mercenary company was asked to deal with the disposal of others. but from time to time, the issue would come up where there would be a difficult client. people answer much kinder to swords than they did to words. fear also is a good motivator. it would do well for the students to learn that. though, he wonders if pelleas might know fear a little too well from the way he drank the draught without stopping to breathe. byleth only watches as pelleas departs from the kitchen too, chasing after the pink one. "mm? oh."

      he looks down. his boots.

      he wriggles his toes.

      byleth is reminded of the leeches. lips part to answer. his eyes meet m — oh, his name is matthew. it was good he remembered. he turns and walks away, following after the two into the mosquito's perch proper. handing off the few tankards he had on his tray to other customers, he eventually makes his way toward the table where vetch sits with the pi — inigo, he thinks proudly. pelleas hovers anxiously. byleth's eyes turn toward the table. he's seen this game before. eyes then turn to tara, then back to the table. they say nothing. "as expected," he murmurs, pointing to the eighteens spread across the table. "another victory, inigo."

      "that's ours, sweetheart," tara replies.

      a pause.

      he looks at the eleven.

      the corners of byleth's lips just slightly tilt down.

@ostianshadow!

[elysieth]

welcome to red lobster | plateau, a.

theindigoflirt:

Wings shuffle in pained irritation. Narrow head tilts, heron preparing another advance. Inigo flicks up his killing edge, droplets of black sludge creeping down the curved metal. 

Professor Byleth finally stirs, the strange bone sword of his flicking out with deadly accuracy, cutting through the heron like butter. Heron staggers once, talons half raising before it falls in a heap next to their companion. 

Inigo only half hears Larcei’s reply, dropping his guard as a fresh wave of pain rolls over him. Left hand comes up to his chest. The cuts appear to be shallow, if bothersome. Fingers coming away sticky with blood, he casts about for a cloth to clean himself up. Something about Fernand’s brusque tone doesn’t sit quite right. Inigo’s brow twitches, biting back a quick retort. Talking back to a teammate—and academy professor, no less—requires a level of confidence even Inigo can’t fake. “Tis but a scratch! Ol’ Inigo’s endured far worse!” Dancer quips, though his slightly heavier breathing breaks through the bluster. 

Byleth walks unbothered further into the kitchen. Finding nothing more suitable, Inigo rips a tablecloth off a nearby table, using one corner to clean his blade. Sheathes the weapon, bunching up the fabric to dab at his chest. The bleeding has slowed, thank Naga. 

His companions wander about, discussing booklets and poking around the kitchen as he catches his breath. Pauses in his poor attempt of battlefield medicine. Takes a half step forward, towards a door leading to the other side of the room. Is that…breaking glass? Drops the dirty white cloth, again reaching for his sword. 

“Hey, I think I hear something…” Shoulders the door open to find three fish attacking a group of his fellows from the Academy. So they’re not alone aboard this ship. As Inigo files that information away, three more of the monsters seemingly mutate from the very air directly in front of him. 

Naturally. A red creature resembling a lobster materializes closest to him. 

[Attack roll: 12+2=14! Crawfish 2 is Critically Hit!] 

“No hard feelings!” Inigo tosses his sword in the air once, catches the spinning blade and brings it down hard, slicing off a pincer. Fierce grin, avoiding a spray of black sludge. 

[Crawfish 2 roll: 13! Inigo is Hit!] 

He slides directly into the pathway of the remaining pincer. Steps backward as quickly as he can, earning a snap on his upper left arm in the process. Inigo grits his teeth, doing his best to push through the lines of fire lighting up his entire upper body. 

> @elysieth help a student out! 

♢ ` —       byleth thanks larcei with a quiet nod, taking the drink menu in hand before flipping through it to search for something that might look similar to what sits before them. they didn't like surprises. really, it would be best to know what the drink tasted like before he did drink it. eyes barely lift when he hears the other professor protest. did it bother him? it wasn't as if though their students were unused to combat. they were trained. some newer to the sword and lance than others, but not wholly incapable of defending themselves. there were any number of capable adults in attendance.

      "——— no," comes his reply, turning the pages a little while longer before he turns the menu toward larcei. "do you know which one?" he gingerly lifts the glass to show her, just as another figure enters in his periphery. muscles tense involuntarily, arm reeling back to throw the glass in their new assailant's face before realizing that it is just matthew. he lowers his arm. "oh, hello." byleth exhales, tipping his head toward the knight in quiet acknowledgement. he tries for a smile. it doesn't quite land.

      turning to face fernand, he issues the announcement that they've found some others. ( rather, they find them. ) they agree to go their separate ways. if they'd ended up in the same kitchen, there must be other rooms that are connected. with any luck, they might find the remaining third of the group that they'd arrived with. splitting up would serve them the most, though the decision is less made by him than it is just made just simply by nodding. as pent departs from the kitchen and byleth only briefly returns to his attention to the drink menu, navy lifts again as he hears inigo's voice. he returns the menu to larcei's hands, hurrying after him. "wait, don't —"

      he's gone.

      but the sound of not-so-distant fighting isn't. pushing the doors open, byleth finds inigo's back and three creatures materialize before them. a pause. they didn't even have a fishing trawl. this time, byleth is more prepared. withdrawing his sword, the blade severs as it whips out in the direction of a mutated fish just within reach.

byleth rolls a 6 ( barely hit )! shad, 1.5 / 3.

      sharpened bone cleaves through scales, but the mutated creature does not fall. the monster contorts, twists as it lunges towards him and manages to send byleth backwards with a solid strike to his gut once more. arm immediately lifts to guard his stomach after, professor reluctantly pleased to know that another unfortunate sound does not emerge. still, it was embarrassing. he doesn't know how he'll tell jeralt when they get back. it would bruise in the morning. if, well — if it wasn't already morning.

shad rolls a 13 ( hit )! byleth, 7.5 / 10. @eideslanze, it's your turn!