wallacepolsom
izzy's playlists!
No title available
h
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
oozey mess
Three Goblin Art
we're not kids anymore.
Today's Document
DEAR READER
Not today Justin
⁂
JVL
No title available
Sade Olutola
will byers stan first human second
Xuebing Du
Stranger Things
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Chile
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Slovakia
seen from South Africa
seen from Norway
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Vietnam
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
@excalitress
Closed Sonya from Fire Emblem Shadows of Valentia/Gaiden! Ashen Wolves affiliated with The Officers Academy. Penned by Neku!
Mobile Links: Profile / Stats / Interview / Mun / Taglist
Small Notes (More can be found via profile!):
February Activity Check
Level Up! (Passed)
Status: Cleared!
Points Obtained:
+1 Any (Monthly Activity) +1 Sword (Dropped Thread: Mae 01)
Total Points: 20 –> 22
Point Allocation:
Sword D -> D+ Flying E -> E+
New Classes Accessed:
N/A
Classes Mastered: Mage
Inventory Changes: N/A
— never ending
pearlescent mission board // beach cleanup
Edelgard claps her hands free of broken debris— The sound is muffled by distant waves. As the breeze tosses sand into her hair, the princess waves it away with a flick of the hand.
It's evident to her that Sonya holds nothing back when it comes to her words. It's intriguing. She much prefers that over those who skirt around a point. While it isn't the particular wording she herself would use, it's an agreeable testament all the same.
"The sudden rainfall did leave quite a damper.. I won't deny that," she settles on. She supposes, were the event had been akin to previous years, rain could have more easily been evaded by simply staying indoors.
"There's many who would disagree with breaking traditions, though. They are unused to change." Not her, of course. Even now, cleaning up after the ball is nothing new. The difference is that Viscount Menja is the one instructing others to do his work. She meets Sonya's gaze again with eyes that speak of command. "That is because they've never been given the opportunity to see otherwise."
A wave crashes behind her; she breaks the attention to rummage its aftermath. "It doesn't matter if you never saw the ball held on monastery grounds. That does leave me to wonder, though.. Why do you say those words, exactly? How you speak of tradition and of.. your opinions, that is."
Damper. If her word choice was meant to be a pun on the situation, Sonya keeps any chortling to herself. It’d be quite rude to interrupt someone she wishes to overhear mid-speech, after all. Praise would simply be reserved for a mere curling at the side of her lip as the mage listens on.
And she is glad to have remained listening, for those eyes that stare back at her speak great strength. Or no, not merely the strength of an individual who is unaware of their own powerful gaze. This set of eyes holds something much stronger: the means of control.
It’s enough to make Sonya falter for a small bit after the conveniently timed stormy wave. Though she is not one to let her conversation partner wallow in the muck for long alone. Careful with getting too much sand in her nails, she crouches down every now and then to pick away at any signs of waste. One crouch is enough to stand right by the silver-haired woman, providing the perfect excuse of a reply.
“Speaking all there is about me could be quite the downer, if not quite sudden for a first meet, wouldn’t you say?” Sonya interlaces honesty with some reasoning, though since Edelgard is such a good listener, carries on just a bit longer. “But let’s just go with this for now. Tradition screwed me over. I screwed it back. Even now I’m trying to screw it over even more. That’s just what I wanna see.”
Each mention of screw is met with Sonya tossing a crumbled wrapper or whatever else she can get her hands on into their collective sack. Somehow the additional action makes her feel better. She wonders if it makes her point come across any better too.
“Wouldn’t that be enough to get you to slap so-called ‘traditions’ in the face?” She stares back at those commanding eyes with anticipation of her own.
this is...YOUR circus??
expedition week 3 verdane - agustria visit (wc limit: 200)
For a boy who distinguishes himself as student over knight, he certainty carries the extensive formalities of one. Has the whole noble name prepared and everything, too. Good thing he has a pretty face to back it up.
…Wait, is this the moment noblemen expect the lady to extend her hand? Or is he content enough with her just returning the paper.
Hopefully he is simply fine with the latter, as Sonya does just that. A dainty smile is at least provided with the motion, and substitutes as an immediate response to his extended question.
“Glad we got the ‘capable’ part out of the way there. Though I suppose we fought together earlier to prove it. But no need to worry about me. As much as getting a ride back would be favorable…I’d rather see my thoughts delivered in a timely manner.”
She motions toward the paper now in his pocket. Part of her thinks that is more than enough to send him on his way, though she finds herself spinning around in the night for one more statement.
“Oh, and just Sonya’s fine. If you were wondering. No need for family name for me.”
Diarmuid, in turn, casts his gaze over his shoulder — towards where he'll be heading, towards rosebushes more thorns than blossoms. His expression flickers, then, soft-smile into a stern neutrality. It's only when Sonya pauses that he turns his head back, lifting his eyes to meet hers.
One more smile for the road, then. It raises his cheeks, earnestly asymmetrical.
He'd given his family name as a promise, an assurance that her words would reach someone, but for all his family means to him, the truth is —
"Diarmuid's just fine for me."
(And, for all his luminosity, he disappears easily enough into the trees with a wave and a wink goodbye.)
the end
fervor for flu or fever
mission board: epidemic (reason+1)
She finds it nearly a miracle that the hallway of plants finds itself still open despite the inherent horror that sweeps over the monastery. Not that she wishes to underestimate the potential impact of this supposed plague. Last thing she needs after wasting a month in another foreign land is to get down with an illness and waste more of her precious time.
Of course, the possible motive behind keeping the greenhouse active soon becomes rather obvious. Many scholars stand outside or close to the building’s front, either discussing much amongst themselves or picking at plants and flowers on the side. They’re attempting to combat sickness with a natural concoction.
Not entirely the most foreign method to the experimental mage. But with so little she currently knows and with no one to even consider collaborating with…Sonya solely desires to stand alone. Perhaps that final set piece filled with lush trees has tainted her thoughts more than she’d liked.
But call it fate or extreme coincidence, for she is quick to see another who shared overlooking that setting right alongside her upon pushing herself deeper into the greenhouse. Except…she feels a tad of nostalgia looking over him once again. And not a good kind of nostalgia, as it comes from huddling inside a cabin rather than appreciating natural beauty.
“Coincidence meeting here like this, hmm?” Sonya tries to keep a cheery outlook to drown out any discomfort bubbling deep inside. “Though if it were up to me, this place would be a lot better without the crowding.”
@moriddyn
target to f(e)-4
mission board: epidemic (jugdral report)
“...Shoot. There goes my small ship.”
While the annoyance rings greatly in the declaration, Sonya removes the necessary piece from the board with proper goodwill and grace. It is only natural for her behavior to match the dignity of the opponent that sits opposite of her.
Still, it’s a crying shame. Mages were meant to be the smartest ones roaming the lands. Yet even after being introduced to the peculiar little board game by Sanaki, she somehow plays even worse than their first foray upon that ship. And there isn’t even the lurching of the boat that forces her to reposition her pieces as a petty excuse for distraction.
Ah, but yes. Before letting herself be swallowed by the bitterness of inevitable defeat (by someone so young, no less), the subject the Abyssian actually wanted to delve into returns to the front of her mind.
Sonya leans back in her wooden chair, looking up at Sanaki and straightening her smooth hair. “Speaking of these ships, how did you fare after sinking all of mine last moon?” she sarcastically jests. “I felt bad not seeing you in the crew I ended up with at that land…Jugdral, was it? Surely it was a bore without me around.”
Is this what board game players called…stalling? Hopefully it is. It sounds pretty good to do right about now.
@sanakialtina
January Activity Check
Level Up! (Passed)
Status: Cleared!
Points Obtained:
+1 Any (Monthly Activity) Knowledge Gem (Expedition 2026 Prize)
Total Points: 19 –> 20
Point Allocation:
Reason B+ (½) -> A
New Classes Accessed:
Dark Bishop Warlock
Classes Mastered: N/A
Inventory Changes:
Resonance (A Reason) Snake Scroll (A Reason - Expedition 2026 Participation Prize) Conjuration (A Reason - Expedition 2026 (-500 gold)) Soul's Lantern (D Reason - Expedition 2026) (-200 gold)) Remaining Gold (1160-700=460 gold remaining)
for (dis)honest men only
expedition week 3 verdane - lake of legend
It’s peculiar. She should be even more enraged at the turn of Andrei’s back. Furious that he does not even grace her fury with anything greater than the will to move on.
But right as Sonya slips her hand off her wet, cold body once more…her finger falters before pointing right at his head.
By no means would she define herself as “optimist.” The girl had been born without the prospect of looking up in life. Not that being forced to do the opposite has done much wrong for her. She still stands here to this very day, more alive than she’s ever felt at that. It’s just that…just because she can bear through a middling outcome or two does not mean the long streak brings her any more joy.
Maybe it’s just as Andrei says. This is Jugdral, a land that he clearly is more aware of compared to her measly three-spot knowledge. And while she cannot point a finger to Fódlan’s issues beyond the questionable things that twisted mirror had put her through…it doesn’t take a genius to see the flaws in any world.
If a moment of tranquility is no greater than a myth, then perhaps he is correct. No point in attempting to search for it any longer here.
Her search remains fruitless. But that doesn’t curse her to break down now.
“Screw the lake then,” the professor pipes up, listening to her pupil’s advice. “We should head back now. Just as you wanted to in the first place. Could be a nice, warm change of clothes back there too…”
The final remark is meant to leave the suggestion as a jest, though unexpectedly, Sonya asks one more thing.
“Care if I accompany you back? Not that I fear further mishap on the return. I merely feel…the company will do me good.”
Finally, finally, the professor agrees, with the same, sudden ease that he had seen from her in Silesse. All that intensity relenting in a split second, leaving Andrei feeling the whiplash. She's an odd woman, he thinks, but the thought doesn't come with the same alarm or suspicion as he might hold for a stranger.
They all arrived in the Abyss for one reason or another, with their own goals in mind, and if this is how she is going about attaining hers, he could not fault her for it.
The next spoken offer catches him by surprise, as gratuitous as it is. He does not know the way back, and would require her guidance, else he might not have stayed as long as he had. But the way she frames it, almost as a favor to her instead, like a connection sought…
Something within the pit of his stomach settles, and Andrei bows his head, something of an apology, something of thanks.
"…Very well," he says, and motions for her to take the lead, following her steps as they leave the empty lake behind to return to the other students and staff of Garreg Mach.
"Along the way, perhaps you might also tell me what happened after the battle. I only remember being in the forest, with the archers…"
—end.
without raising a fist
expedition week 2 silesse - nobleman secrets
It’s the most she managed to wrangle out of his lips since finding him standing nearby. Progress is progress, even if it had to come at the price of some astonishment.
First that comes to mind is the reveal of his familiarity with the land. So Andrei was a local of sorts? Unless the libraries of the Abyss go into extensive details on the politics of places nowhere nearby. But going off that start - You know nothing of me - Sonya has a sense that the former is closer to the truth.
Though if he prefers keeping her knowledge at nothing, then she shall not tug. A fair few boundaries have already appeared to be made from this exchange alone, even if invisible.
The hand that scrunches the woman’s hand releases it back into the wind’s flow. She lets her fingers rest right above her hip. “I find it difficult to forget at times. But…if you insist. I’ll give it my best shot.”
Despite it all, Sonya finds it strangely effortless to retain her eyes upon her student’s face. There’s some sort of grit she feels from what drives his speech, no matter how tired he may sound. Although she might know little of what led Andrei to this field today, there’s something that stirs within him that she respects.
Two figures residing in the uninhabitable shadows, yet striving for the surface anyway.
“It’s not the most infrequent thing. Spineless nobles hiring flunkies to do their bidding, I mean,” Sonya rectifies the comment to reflect upon what they already knew. Certainly not about what he just said. “Going out of our way to smack the ass of every count full of themselves would be an incomplete endeavor. Better to resolve the issues that really get to you.”
She subconsciously feels the hand by her hip tighten in grip.
“Don’t you agree?”
Andrei is not so naive to believe his request could truly be granted, but the professor's willingness to play along is the only mercy he could possibly ask for.
Her gaze is discomfiting, and yet he doesn't look away again, meeting her eyes with something like defiance. There doesn't seem to be condescension or disdain in what he sees, and he wonders whether the tightening within his heart is gratefulness or anguish at a clemency so undeserved.
And so, the conclusion circles back to what they had started with, and the only realistic action before them. Hypothetical revenge dissipates in the face of reality, and the village will be no more than an insignificant memory to them, once they are gone.
"Of course," Andrei replies, as hollow as the howling wind that surrounds them.
He had tried to make the right choice, the better choice, both in the past and in the present. Even now, he doesn't fully know whether his previous choices (for Yngvi, for honor, for his own freedom) had been worth it in the end, but… this time, here and now with more Fódlan than Jugdral binding him, he hopes once more, just as he had always hoped, that he had made the better choice.
"It would be best if we head back into the city, Professor," he says quietly, "It is useless to stand here speaking of impossibilities."
And whether or not she follows, Andrei turns his back on the memories of bloodshed on the horizon, the chains around him clinking faintly as he makes his way into Sailane.
—end.
and i got nobody to love
expedition week 2 silesse - purple subteam 1
You WILL be dead at this rate.
Was the immediate retort that sat on his tongue, but Diamant holds it back only because of the situation at hand. The bandits, erratic and unhinged from the loss of their leader, were still targeting the villagers.
More and more fall dead to the snow, and the Brodian can spare no more thoughts on his teammate's recklessness as he heads back into the fray. Sonya could handle herself, and Andrei had healing—he trusted the man would use it once it was needed.
One bandit falls to Sonya's magic, and Lex charges another; Diamant puts his focus towards the last visible one, adrenaline and rage pushing him forward, his axe brought down on the man with crushing force.
Brave axe lodges into the juncture between neck and shoulder, the bandit howling in agony as he tries to swing at Diamant with his crowbill. But the swipe is unfocused and desperate, the blade stabbing into the king's leg.
Unfazed, Diamant coldly drags his axe downward, putting a swift end to the bandit's life by cleaving straight through his chest.
As the final one crumples to the ground, Diamant stabs his weapon into the snow, supporting himself on it as he pulls the crowbill out of his leg.
With haggard breaths, he looks up to survey the village. Burnt to a ruin, with the bodies of countless innocents covering the landscape. Crimson blood and black ash seep and mingle into the snow, and Diamant can only curse the pointlessness of it all.
Violence and warfare... it took far too much.
"We're done here." He announces, turning to the rest of the team. "Gather what survivors you can find. We'll bury the dead, and bring the living along with us, back to the caravan."
Assuming it hasn't been attacked by bandits in their absence.
A swift strike ends the life of the bandit that Lex had been dueling with, and finally, the sounds of battle were no longer able to be heard over the howling of the wind. Corpses littered the field, fifteen in all, with a few villagers looking only moments away from adding to their number. Lex planted his axe into the ground, leaning heavily upon it as he took a moment to gather his bearings. It was a grisly scene, snow stained scarlet as far as he could see. Buildings had been reduced to rubble. Where were the people supposed to go?
Lex offered a hand to the villager he had thrown himself in front of, knowing the boy would be in no shape to lift himself up after the attacks he endured. He looked horribly shaken. Lex couldn't really be surprised by that after he'd watched his friends and family get cut down for the crime of trying to survive in Jugdral. It was a damn waste. What was the point of any of this? Nobody was better for the acts of these brigands. These people didn't even have money for them to steal.
"C'mon," Lex urged the villager somewhat brusquely, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and hauling him to his feet. "We've gotta go. There's no telling if more're on the way."
It was a miserable life this boy was forced to live, and yet so many in Jugdral cared not a whit for how much people like him suffered. Tragedies like this weren't even an uncommon occurrence in this wretched land. If it hadn't been bandits, then it might have been knights shaking the people down on the orders of some greedy lord. Their lives didn't matter to the elites. Their blood wasn't special, so who cared where it was spilled?
"...Leave the dead," Lex added, his tone resolute. "We can bury them later after you've gotten patched up. For now, we need to get the rest of you to safety."
What a waste.
END
can't have shit in isaach
expedition week 1 - purple subteam 1
"At your right!"
Diarmuid finds it strangely easy to fall into step at this woman's side, heeding her commands with an extra little flourish to the twirl of his sword. The wind feels as if at his back, and he spares a moment to glance to his compatriots once more, a grateful smile towards the fellow who had identified the traitor. It's a bit excessive, perhaps, but he all but leaps after the traitor, a strange satisfaction brought about by the way his body moves.
His heart thrums. His blood sings.
His blood sings, heavy-handed and raw, and his blade strikes truer-than-true. It's altogether gorier than he would prefer, clean through the shoulder, a nearly pinning gesture. He lets his gaze flicker away, raises a hand to wave his allies over --
he knows negligence can be one's undoing.
The man rolls beneath him, knocking Diarmuid to the side, and a poisoned blade drags down his arm. A grimace flickers on his face for a moment as the sting sustains longer than it should.
So at last their traitor revealed, singular as opposed to several. 'Compass' rung all throughout the field, igniting interest as much as fury, and turning heads with one particular dragon's along with it. Rafal positioned to give chase, slipping his hand into the edge of his pocket where his fingertips skated along a smooth crystal plane. There was no use running, not for a traitor with fate inevitable, and not for a creature who possessed the ability to close any gap in the blink of an eye while transformed.
. . .A creature who would have done so had he not been waylaid. He sidestepped the reach of grubby mitts. Yet another pickpocket, the mere glimpse of a precious gem enough to whet their hunger and glut it on audacity. This stone was worth more than all the lives gathered and lost today, by its inherent creation had demanded a world of innocents to be bled. Their punishment for seeking beyond their lowly station?
"Oh, get out of my way," Rafal snarled, executioner's axe coming down as a guillotine, and its target just shy of headless. Silver into shoulder bone.
As the final casualty of this battle thumped lifeless to the floor, he flicked his weapon clean to clear it of grime, then glanced up to reassess the scene. In the wake of settling dust and cooling bodies, all that remained was. . .well, them. A mage, two students, and a dragon. "The compass wielder is as good as gone. As is his trail. Unfortunately, my inhuman abilities do not involve a higher sense of smell."
All that could be smelled, anyway, was the rank smell of the dead. Blinking, Rafal's notice passed to the skies at a flicker of movement. Vultures had begun to circle the area, attracted by such rampant undoing - black and bald and pink-necked. Familiar sights from the neighboring desert, of course. Haunting opportunists to those unacquainted with death, and mere eyesore to one who owned it as talent and birthright. He took their appearance as cue to sheathe his axe.
"No matter," he sighed, flicking the hair from his eyes. "I am in sore need of a bath. Finding one would interest me far more than a fruitless chase."
The first to break away from their group and depart the battlefield; a guiding commander, or a fierce individualist who simply coincided with the role.
...
( 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 )
for (dis)honest men only
expedition week 3 verdane - lake of legend
As Sonya finally leaves the water, the tension also begins draining out of Andrei's posture, though his wary gaze still follows her every movement, letting her fill the silence with her words.
"None of these incidents were particularly surprising for the places they occurred in," he says, a long moment after she finishes, "This is just… how Jugdral is. Fódlan also has its own fair share of problems, does it not?"
He remembers the various cities he had seen after the fall of the monastery, each with uncouth actors both noble and common alike, and even beasts roaming the streets. Bandits and pickpockets on the outskirts of town seem much more of a standard kind of trouble, in comparison. And, if not all of them, they had at least dealt with most of what had stood in their way.
It is clear that Professor Sonya is not of Jugdral, or perhaps even Fódlan, but there is something that she searches for as well.
(Andrei wonders if it is even something that could be found, or if her goal, like his, is ultimately doomed to failure.)
He turns away when the professor does, away from the waters that hold no answers, that aren't even capable of testing a man's character. Perhaps, they could do so themselves, well enough.
"If you are in search of myths, you will not find it in this lake, Professor," he says.
It’s peculiar. She should be even more enraged at the turn of Andrei’s back. Furious that he does not even grace her fury with anything greater than the will to move on.
But right as Sonya slips her hand off her wet, cold body once more…her finger falters before pointing right at his head.
By no means would she define herself as “optimist.” The girl had been born without the prospect of looking up in life. Not that being forced to do the opposite has done much wrong for her. She still stands here to this very day, more alive than she’s ever felt at that. It’s just that…just because she can bear through a middling outcome or two does not mean the long streak brings her any more joy.
Maybe it’s just as Andrei says. This is Jugdral, a land that he clearly is more aware of compared to her measly three-spot knowledge. And while she cannot point a finger to Fódlan’s issues beyond the questionable things that twisted mirror had put her through…it doesn’t take a genius to see the flaws in any world.
If a moment of tranquility is no greater than a myth, then perhaps he is correct. No point in attempting to search for it any longer here.
Her search remains fruitless. But that doesn’t curse her to break down now.
“Screw the lake then,” the professor pipes up, listening to her pupil’s advice. “We should head back now. Just as you wanted to in the first place. Could be a nice, warm change of clothes back there too…”
The final remark is meant to leave the suggestion as a jest, though unexpectedly, Sonya asks one more thing.
“Care if I accompany you back? Not that I fear further mishap on the return. I merely feel…the company will do me good.”
for (dis)honest men only
expedition week 3 verdane - lake of legend
"No!!" The professor leaps before he can do much but stagger backwards, and for a heart stopping moment, Andrei can imagine her sinking below the surface, never to return. Lost, and all because of some baseless rumor about worthy hearts, as though he could ever fill that role.
(She would be gone, and it would be his fault, just as Lady Sister had been—)
…Then Sonya straightens up, revealing that the water barely reached her thighs, and perhaps Andrei would feel foolish for this later, but the adrenaline rush of the moment supercedes his sense of reason. His heart pounds, powerful and uneven, almost an obstinate proof of something resembling life.
"I will not," he manages out, his cracked facade of calm no longer able to hide the fact that he is fully shaking. Something like instinct at the back of his mind bids him to simply turn back and disappear into the trees, with or without the professor following him. To wander lost in the forest would surely be preferable to this.
But that would be running away, just as Professor Sonya had accused him, however playfully, and so he stands his ground. It is not much of an accomplishment, but that last vestige of pride is all he has left at the moment.
"I do not know what exactly you hope to accomplish," he says, to her actions and her offer of remaining in the water, "But I will have no part of it."
Not that she anticipated anything opposite to his inherent pushback post-dive, but the continued distress in his voice is…alarming. What’s so different between her prior requests and her currently wallowing in the water? All that’s different is that she is now a little wet, while he remains several paces away from the…
…lake.
Oh. Ohhhhh.
“I’m just trying to accomplish some fun. Is that too much to ask?” Sonya retorts while finding the lightest steps she could take out of the water without muddying her shoes further. Once stepping out, she begins touching the lowest portions of her smooth hair that is already dripping. A toss back and forth, and water drops threaten to splash upon the boy.
The frown on her face remains. Perhaps due to a peculiar mixture of vexation yet guilt from realizing his weakness, the mage prattles on to the one member of the team that could very well understand the most.
“I only tagged along on the church’s command to find…something. Anything mythical, anything beyond us to continue my own goals. Selfish? Yeah. But aren’t we all?”
A small groan is let out while she shakes her head. Hand tries to lie firm on the bottom of her thigh, only to nearly slip and trip herself over. It instead settles on her gut.
“All we’ve done this trip is kill the locals and impress no one. Doesn’t that…get to you? I thought I could at least distract myself from it for just a moment… How silly I was.”
Her eyes waver from the young man to her own wet shoes. What a belittling sight. Cold, miserable...and speaking way too much to someone who very well might not even care.
this is...YOUR circus??
expedition week 3 verdane - agustria visit (wc limit: 200)
"I'm doing this for L— my family."
No defensiveness, the same warm charming smile.
(And, yes, he does do this for himself, but that comes later. That comes with the letter he's delivering, with the desire to be an errand boy, with every day he spends trying to ensure that there's still an Agustria for Ares to return to when he leaves Garreg Mach. For his family is for himself, the selfishness he'll allow himself to grasp without remorse.)
Diarmuid bends at the waist, then, an earnest bow with an extended hand.
"My name is Diarmuid Ragnfiðr Nordion. On that name, I will see this message delivered."
He says his full name with a weight to it, a promise wrapped in the way he lingers slightly on the final 'n'. He will take responsibility for this, in the absence of anyone else to do so.
The paper is carefully folded, then, returned alongside Lord Ares' note. He does not correct himself in this internal thought — he operates as an extension of his will, and so Ares is his lord.
"Do you need anything else? I'll admit, it feels ungentlemanly to leave a woman alone in the dark woods, but you've proven yourself more than capable."
For a boy who distinguishes himself as student over knight, he certainty carries the extensive formalities of one. Has the whole noble name prepared and everything, too. Good thing he has a pretty face to back it up.
…Wait, is this the moment noblemen expect the lady to extend her hand? Or is he content enough with her just returning the paper.
Hopefully he is simply fine with the latter, as Sonya does just that. A dainty smile is at least provided with the motion, and substitutes as an immediate response to his extended question.
“Glad we got the ‘capable’ part out of the way there. Though I suppose we fought together earlier to prove it. But no need to worry about me. As much as getting a ride back would be favorable…I’d rather see my thoughts delivered in a timely manner.”
She motions toward the paper now in his pocket. Part of her thinks that is more than enough to send him on his way, though she finds herself spinning around in the night for one more statement.
“Oh, and just Sonya’s fine. If you were wondering. No need for family name for me.”
for (dis)honest men only
expedition week 3 verdane - lake of legend
Whatever opinion Andrei might express at her supposed worry — she is not Professor Lambert, he hardly knows her, but he could understand obligation towards a student — halts at her next suggestion. He takes a few more steps away from the water, eyes trained on her as though she might make good on the threat his freshly waking mind had created, whether in the name of jest, training, or actual malice.
The brief flash of panic is replaced by a dour expression, as though Sonya's suggestion was a mere inconvenience he is unwilling to indulge in.
(When he speaks, his voice betrays a tremble, again.)
"The water will surely be filthy without any maintenance," he says, curling his hands into fists to hide the soil still streaked upon them, "Not to mention the fact that neither of us had brought a change of clothing."
In every way, this suggestion is impractical, and Andrei clings to that as a lifeline, all the while still looking ready to escape at the first sign of serious threat.
"There is no need for me, or for you, to test a legend that I am certain does not exist."
“Filthy?” Sonya repeats with a confused twinge. “Doesn’t look like that on the surface. Though if people have thrown whatever the hell they’d like, then perhaps…”
She entertains the thoughts temporarily. It is a shame she cannot simply toss away something haphazard, such as a sword, and watch it sink away in anticipation. On the other hand…this land is already tainted by discourse enough. Is it such a stretch to assume the lakebed is as tarnished?
“But if you’re so dreadfully worried, fine…”
Appearing to surrender, she takes a single step backwards from the lake’s entry. Then another. But a third never comes out, as instead of turning to fully face away from the water, Sonya spits out one last cry before sprinting right back away from the grass.
“I’ll keep this brief, then-!”
Splash!
With her hands holding her purple hair close, Sonya looks just around her…in disappointment. The lake’s reflection appears to make it appear quite deep. In reality, the front of the lake they are nearby is practically half her height at most. Now it is barely worth getting her boots wet.
All she can do is turn back toward Andrei with a dejected frown. “Well. She does not appear to be around here, at knee-length.
"...You could join me, you know. Make me feel less bad."
carved in wood
mission board: aphotic (import demand)
When Sonya goes out of her way for purchases, she couldn’t care less about where they come from. Just as long as the makeup does its job here, or the tome is in fair quality there, then she’s a happy consumer.
But circumstances are a little different when what she needs in particular originates from a land she’s left abandoned for moons now. Not to mention when any minimal chance she may have of it being shipped here is further spoiled by the scams on any kind of import, no matter its quality.
Sonya does not waste the time becoming a victim to shrewd merchants. She works to be smarter than them. In this instance, following where the monastery’s most biting rumors take her.
It does mean she has to converse with one of the church’s knights while they’re off-duty, which doesn’t entirely entice the lady of the shadows. But what perhaps startles her more is the hue of the rumored’s hair as Sonya approaches her by the gardens. A splash of pink matches precisely what she’s been told…but if so, why does the soft blush take Sonya back to scheming maids and false housework?
They’re only flashes of memories, however. Not pressing enough for the mage to straight-up pursue them, right away at least. There are more pressing matters to attend to. Matters that she’d like to get done with sooner than later.
“Hem,” Sonya fakes a cough when within earshot of the pinkette to grab her attention. Before the girl even has the time to turn to confirm who is speaking to her, the requester already has a scrap of paper floating right next to her face.
Scribbled upon it is a sketch of what appears to be a suit of armor atop a small pedestal. The armor wields both a prickled lance in its left hand and a large shield that nearly covers its entire body in its right. The quality of the image…is scratchy and jagged. But most of it is recognizable. Hopefully.
“You’re pretty good with your hands, yeah?” Sonya continues on, not caring to specify what has led her here. “Can you carve this up within the next week or so? With wood. Well, wood’s what you carve with anyhow, right?”
Dammit. She told herself to make this order quick and snappy, and here she is tripping herself over.
@lazulienne
this is...YOUR circus??
expedition week 3 verdane - agustria visit (wc limit: 200)
Diarmuid decides, in this dimly-lit moment, that he's fond of her style.
A compromise — he pulls out another piece of paper. This one is adorned in thin, slanted, handwriting, with ys and gs that loop over on themselves. The notes here are far less direct, but no less scathing — a detailed note on how Nordion could've served to host their number serves only as the opening.
It's Diarmuid's own handwriting, and there's plenty of space for more.
He offers it to her with a grin that slips from earnest to wry.
"But now I wonder! Should I have gathered all our group's complaints?"
He says it as a joke.
(He's entirely serious.)
Sonya is beginning to like his style well. A lot more resourceful than she cared to expect of the man.
But that does make her question…this handwriting. Is this truly his, in comparison to the other that she’s shown him? It cannot be the scripture of others from their band, given his witty remark that…surely is meant to be jest and nothing more. So then who takes ownership of the first set of criticisms?
“You’re doing this for yourself, aren’t you? Unless you fancy being an errand boy, we can keep this to ourselves,” she declares just in case. It already feels like a risk getting more involved than she has to with this land’s power struggles. Not that Diarmuid seems to have to face the same considerations.
Without further hesitation, Sonya bends down momentarily to grab the other paper as she sets ink and quill to her side. With rushed writing that is somewhat better than chicken scratch, she writes:
“If your head is straight enough to remain standing, it could do to learn some proper consideration.”
“That…should be enough,” she concludes, standing back up. “Now. Can I trust the rest to you?”
