† SINISTER SERVANT

hubert von vestra of the black eagles  ﹔ closed rp blog associated with the officer's academy.

[heartoftheloathsome]

november activity check ; passed

skill points earned: 1 (monthly)

total skill points: 7 → 8

skill changes: Reason B (rank up!)

[heartoftheloathsome]

our get along shirt

vonochs​:

– THE CORNERS OF her mouth dip at Hubert’s reluctance to spend time with her in exactly the manner she’d hoped for, the scoundrel. And then–

And then–!

“ You’ve got a popsicle?! “ She huffs, hands balled up in fists at her side. “ H-Hubie, when’d you get that?! Seriously!! “ She makes as if to swipe the treat, but he’s so damn tall that it, frankly, is in no way fair. “ And you didn’t get one for me too? Ugh! “

Or so she says, but the thought of eating a popsicle is enough to turn her stomach. Sweets have never been something she’s been incredibly privy to, even if she’s enjoyed a nice tart here or there, but it’s the principle of the matter that has her indignant. 

“ Well! Suit yourself, “ she sighs over-dramatically, arms crossed in as stereotypical of an ‘annoyed little kid’ pose she can muster. She tracks his gaze across the sand, catching sight of the horizon line. It’s clear, now, with the sky clearer than she’s ever seen it at the monastery and the sun high and bright. Later, yellows and oranges will crest the horizon line and cast shadows along the shoreline, but for now, the tone is far less mellow.

Which, of course, means that Monica must suit the mood.

Determined, she crouches down and begins fervently digging at the sand around Hubert’s feet, hands swinging. “ If you don’t wanna go to the water, we’ll have to do that other beach thing, right? “ she says. “ Burying you all up! “

Hubert clutches his popsicle a little tighter as Monica lashes out for it. A sinister snicker bubbles from his chest. “It’s not my duty to inform you of adjacent popsicle stands,” he remarks. Frankly, sweet treats had always seemed frivolous to him; but in this weather, baking under layers of black—the only color he allows himself to wear—he needed some way to cool down. And it didn’t taste awful. But what tasted better was the rich annoyance exuding from Monica’s face. 

Perhaps Hubert was a fool to doubt Lady Edelgard’s plan of sending the two of them on an outing together. Of course, he should’ve never doubted Her Highness in the first place: she’s always proven herself to be right in the end. This isn’t as dreadful as Hubert had envisioned, and though it’s still dreadful, it’s a kind of dreadful that’s laughable in its irony. Like a self-aware tragedy satirizing those who take things in life a little too seriously. Satires had always been Hubert’s favorite kind of plays.

He doesn’t want to speak too soon, however. As Monica bends down and begins digging in the sand, Hubert stands nonplussed. But as she declares what she intends to do, the fog of confusion parts to make way for visceral disgust. 

“Oh, no. Absolutely not,” Hubert protests, attempting to subdue the panic cracking in his tone. Be buried in the sand? What a humiliating notion. The one thing Hubert loves about satire is that he’s not the one being made a fool of—he’s the one watching. So, this is... quite the immediate terror. 

But Hubert realizes in a stroke of genius: humans love making bets. Humans love competition. And with how much competition is in her, Monica might as well be five humans; she’d do anything to beat Hubert in any capacity whatsoever. So, he exploits this very obvious weakness. 

“I propose this as an ultimatum: we surf, and whoever fails first gets buried in the sand. What do you think?”

[heartoftheloathsome]

last surprise

hresvelged​:

Many more questions raise within Edelgard’s mind as the conversation ends. Convincing as the woman’s act may be, the princess is not one to drop a topic after mere seconds. Still, for the moment, her arm slinks back with Hubert’s as they walk off. It leaves a bitter feeling on the tip of her tongue⁠, biting it back for none to see.

The sounds of the Duke’s voice and cups clanking against one another is the perfect time for an eye-raising individual to slip away into the lightless mist, leaving no trail behind. Let alone, it would not raise any concerns to the general populace. Who would be paying attention to the whereabouts of a singular person by their lonesome? None, save for Edelgard and Hubert.

If Hubert cannot find her, it leaves little doubt in Edelgard’s mind⁠— Their suspect purposefully ran away. She finds it cowardly of people who bolt in fear and steal that which has no place in tarnished hands. “We need to find her immediately,” she beckons. Bringing her arms back to her sides, she heads towards the door and pushes it open. With all attention onto the Duke, she sees no better opportunity to scour the premise then now.

Greeted by a long and overly decorated hallway, her eye catches sight of a shadow heading straight. It, too, appears to be in distress⁠— As if it’s trying to cover some sort of tracks. “This way,” she declares before running ahead. While she may be unarmed, it matters little. Soon within her line of sight, Edelgard turns and speaks words of conviction of the woman: “You will halt immediately if you wish to save face.”

It’s clear their culprit hears the commanding and blunt words of the princess, face nearly pressed against the wall in front of her as she disappears into the darkness once more. “We need to back her into a corner. I’ll head left— Go rightwards, Hubert.”

It’s the easiest thing in the world to take orders from his lady. Without a moment’s hesitation, he breaks into a sprint down the right corridor. Typically, something so physically exerting would wind him immediately; though, the adrenaline flowing through his body with each step grants him the privilege to not care about physique at the moment. His steps are muffled underneath plush, regal red carpet as he pushes onward.

Lady Edelgard had directly pursued the woman down the other hallway, while Hubert is left alone chasing ghosts—yet, for Her Highness, even chasing ghosts seemed like a noble task. Through some miraculous manner that Hubert prefers to leave a mystery, his lady always seems to know what to do. He figures her extreme familiarity with imperial palace layouts has led her to believe that the hallways will intersect at one point, and that she’ll drive the thief down the correct one through pure brute force. It’d only be logical for the thief to fall into an eventual trap.

And as Hubert’s breathing begins to slowly reach a stagger, he finds his hypothesis to be true: he reaches the end of the hallway and turns to see Lady Edelgard right on the hem of the thief’s black velveteen gown. Her Highness never fails to impress him with her dexterity, her hands holding up the fluff of her dress and her petite shoes remaining awfully secure on her dashing feet. Hubert smiles as he plants his feet on the floor, a hand outstretched in front of his face. The thief’s expression contorts into a snarling, wild grimace as she approaches, but her pace doesn’t falter. 

“That was terribly easy,” Hubert goads as he summons a Miasma in his palm. It bubbles violet, dark, and deadly. He musters the most threatening chuckle he can from the depths of his throat before whispering, “Nice try.”

But as Hubert tosses the spell, he realizes that as the thief had passed an unassuming table somewhere along the way, she had snatched a glass vase filled with ivory gardenias—and she throws it in sync with Hubert’s spell. It breaks the sorcerous cloud mid-air, dark magic dispersing and dissipating. He watches helplessly. And soon enough, Hubert faces the consequences of his mistakes as the vase smashes into his forehead and sends him spinning to the floor with a wail of agony. Blood fills his vision as he watches the thief take off down the corridor once more, powerless to stop her. All the fortitude, all the adrenaline left within him had died with that spell. Damn that woman.

[heartoftheloathsome]

the absurd allured

Just when you thought the hidden village was a myth, you stumble upon it. Quite literally. It’s been carved out of a massive pit in the earth and turned into a giant greenhouse through the use of magic. The inside is like a jungle, humid and warm all year round, with plentiful fruits and vegetables and other flora. The people, too, are just as warm, and– come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen any of the villagers frown since they welcomed you inside, no questions asked. You even think you recognize a face you once saw around the monastery, except she looks a little different in the colorful hemp tunic and straw hat that all the other villagers wear. When you talk to her, she has a sort of dreamy look in her voice and eyes, but insists firmly that she’ll never go back to the monastery or a battlefield for the rest of her life. Stay awhile though, she says, and you’ll soon open your eyes to “it,” too.

starter for @cursedbluebird

Hubert usually would not be found dead in a blind, confounded stupor. But as he looks ahead of him, he can’t quite seem to find the right words to enunciate his bewilderment. The village before him is lush with tropical vegetation, be it climbing palm trees, bushes of hibiscus, or clusters of caladiums. The aroma  perfuming the air overwhelms Hubert with its sweetness. He feels as if he can taste the fruit growing in the trees—and he doesn’t like it.

Hubert shivers, despite the soft warmth of the gentle breeze. He looks to his side to observe his mission partner, Marianne, wondering if she feels the same inexplicable anxiety as him. Either way, he’s pulled from his thoughts as a peculiar individual approaches him and Marianne with a disconcerting smile plastered on her face and an intent to monologue. Hubert shares the quickest glance with Marianne, but they communicate more than enough to one another through furrowed eyebrows and sheltered postures.

“Welcome, dear friends! Welcome, welcome,” she greets, with an enthusiastic but drawled tone. She places a hand on Hubert’s shoulder—he winces, struggling to keep the corners of his mouth forced up into a polite grin. As she stares into Hubert’s eyes, he studies her own. Perhaps it is the overall uncanny absurdity of their situation contributing to his perception, but Hubert doesn’t believe he’s ever seen an eye color quite like hers before. It is so blue so as to almost appear violet; vibrant, swimming, but opaque all the same. He swallows; diverting his eyes, he responds at last.

“Thank you,” Hubert forces out.

“I see you are new here. Let me show you around the village! I think you would find it quite lovely.” She pauses, vivid eyes seeming to scrutinize the clothes of the students before her. The perfect crescent of her smile flickers away for just a second, yet it’s so unusual that Hubert can’t help but notice. It comes back, though with a different air to it as she states, “Much lovelier than life back there.”

[heartoftheloathsome]

(navi)gating a forest of fairytales

childofvalla​:

Anankos wonders if the boy is being a liar. He cannot tell for sure, but some part of him feels like he is lying to him.

“My deepest apologies, but I’m afraid that I cannot put this life within your hands unless you stop lying to me. It’s quite rude that you would make up such a story to try and evoke a human instinct to love within in my heart. I suppose I’m quite lucky that I’m not human then.” He puts up a cold act, knowing that he is now a liar as well, and that very thought makes his stomach turn.

He smiles, worrying that it comes off as rather menacing as he flashes sharp teeth. He does not mean to be scary, just slightly intimidating.

“I think it’s time that we stopped the lies young man. I’ve had more than enough of it.”

Hubert frowns. “Ah. How sad,” he says, completely apathetic. “Fine. You’ve caught me in a lie—a quite tedious one, at that. I thank you, actually. I despise the act of begging for mercy, and you’ve successfully saved me from having to do so.” Honestly, Hubert has lost all motivation to keep this act up. This man’s immovability has proven entirely impossible to break, and Hubert hates to admit that his patience doesn’t have nearly as much stamina as he lets on. 

“The fairy is all yours. Good-bye,” Hubert dismisses as he turns around and waves his hand. He has to admit that his heart sinks a little bit at the notion of his own failure. But nevertheless, his ennui outweighs his desire to have that fairy. It’s okay for him to lose sometimes—it’s only human, unlike the man he just met, apparently. How about that, though? Hubert doesn’t even doubt the fact that he isn’t human, but his cowardly attitude and unconfident carriage detract from any possible intimidation factors. Hubert walks away with a casual stroll and a straight spine, owning the complete fabrication of an entire new persona, that of which had just been shattered. 

Though, before Hubert dips out of the forest for good, he stops and turns around. The soft glow of the fairy still illuminates the palms of the still-unnamed man. Hubert refuses to leave the man with a skewed first impression, even if he’s already debased himself pretty thoroughly . “Maybe one day, we could actually have a normal interaction. My name is Hubert, a Black Eagle at the Academy. Come find me if you so please—or, rather, if you can,” he says, making somewhat an enigma of himself. “Good night, sir.” 

And with that, Hubert heads back empty-handed, but oddly fulfilled.

—END.

[heartoftheloathsome]

blanket to a knife fight ༊*·˚

heavenlyknight​:

She winces as the blanket nearly falls, taking his offered greeting despite it. “I am Erinys,” her chin dips, hand retracting now so that it may settle beside its mirror upon her… weapon.

At least it’s more straightforward of a thing to use than his.

“…it is my honor to face you,” but there’s something to her voice that is just a little forced, trying to remain sincere and honorable despite how laughable of a scene this is.

Decidedly fed up with their lack of bloodshed, the man between them claps his hands together. “Right then! Now, our contestants shall take position and -!”

Erinys steps back a pace, settling her weight and raising her weapon. It certainly makes for a shoddy lance – its weight wildly unbalanced even disregarding the fact that it looks as though a stiff wind might snap it in half.

“FIGHT!!”

With something of a resigned sigh, she charges forward. Fighting without the aid of a mount is otherworldly enough with a proper weapon, and knight realizes all of two steps in that she has overestimated how much force for which her blow called. Boots skid in the dirt as she just barely saves herself from meeting the ground. 

Air sucks in through her teeth, blood rushing to her face. Embarrassing. 

Hubert watches with palpable intrigue as Erinys’s fishing rod flails about helplessly though the air. He takes a nonchalant step out of the way—well, that’d been easy enough. Perhaps a little too easy. The real challenge, however, lies with how Hubert chooses to utilize his own weapon. And at present, he has not a clue how to do so.

Would it be cheating if he manipulated the quilt with some dark magic? That would give Hubert a doubtless, dominant advantage, however. Making this unfair game more unfair than it already is would only degrade both of their dignities. Hubert resolves to instead use his brain, a thing that thankfully works phenomenally well—especially during peril. (Though, how perilous is a weaponized fishing rod?)

Hubert grabs the end of Erinys’s outstretched, wobbling fishing pole. With all his might, he yanks it forward as Erinys loses her footing, causing her to stumble forward even further. Hubert watches as she scrambles to find her balance; and just as she looks up, he grips two ends of the quilt in both hands. He throws it over her head and wraps her up completely—surely, Hubert thinks as he chuckles to himself under his breath, this would be a foolproof strategy.

[heartoftheloathsome]

our get along shirt

vonochs​:

– MONICA’S HAND RAISES to the sun, making a half-assed attempt at keeping the rays out of her eyes. It’s the sort of day that someone else might call ‘pleasant’: it’s hot enough that a dip in the water is refreshing but not enough that just lounging around could hurt.

Or, at the very least, it wouldn’t hurt if one was in the appropriate attire.

“ It’s soooo hot! “ Monica drawls, her very black and very susceptible to heat suit pulled right up to her wrists as she twirls languidly around. “ Hey hey, Hubie, I was a big fan of the goth vibes earlier, but the amount of care I have for this look is decreasing incredibly rapidly… “

It had been a request from Edelgard for the two of them - Monica and Hubert, that is - to spend an outing together, just to improve the ‘vibes’ between them, and Monica had fully devoted to the bit: We can dress in matching outfits! She had thought, investigating eyeliner thicker than honey the night beforehand. Hubert likes this sort of style, right? It’ll be cute!

But now, with her eyelids all clogged and the water so tantalizingly cool, she found herself biting her lip and looking across the sea.

“ Heyyyy, Hubie, “ she says once more, “ what if we, like… did that ‘surfing’ thing the locals were talking about? It looks like a ton of fun, right? “

Hubert’s sunglasses sit high on the curve of his nose, round and opaque in a way that comforts him to no end. If it were socially acceptable to wear sunglasses all the time as a way to conceal the swimming thoughts behind his eyes, he would do it—no question at all. He thanks these sunglasses for the moment because a flash of wrath lights up in his eyes at Monica’s suggestion.  His lips tighten into a thin, exasperated, try-not-to-scream line. 

“It looks like a ton of danger. If you want to, go ahead. If you get hurt, you’d only be doing yourself a favor by making yourself a liability,” Hubert remarks with a devilish smirk. 

Monica is like a crimson, wide-eyed blotch on his conscience. A bloodstain he can’t seem to wash off. In a perfect world, the two of them would get along. They have shared interests... he supposes. Reluctantly. He actually quite likes her grungy outfit and makeup; it suits her very well. In fact, he even envies Monica in some ways, with her avidity towards life and all things Edelgard von Hresvelg. Whilst Hubert cannot give her any real credit—for her work towards Lady Edelgard’s cause pales in comparison to Hubert’s own, obviously—he can acknowledge her valiant persistence. Annoying? Yes. Admirable? Also, yes. 

But would he ever admit that? For the love of Seiros, no.

Anyway, he peels back the wrapper of his popsicle. It’s quite loud, and Hubert is fully aware of that. He looks to Monica and raises his eyebrows condescendingly as his glasses conveniently fall down his nose just a tad. He grins something devious before turning his glare towards the horizon and bringing the popsicle to his mouth.

[heartoftheloathsome]

OCTOBER ACTIVITY CHECK ; PASSED

skill points earned: 1 (monthly)

total skill points: 6 → 7

skill changes: Reason C+ (+1)

[heartoftheloathsome]

last surprise

hresvelged​:

The crowds attracted towards the Duke’s balls are nothing short of expected— Smiles with surface level intentions and bows of questioning grace sprinkle the area. When she takes her hand within Hubert’s and they begin their waltz, only then does the music encompass her in a way that brings her back. She has always held a fondness towards the art, for it is the one thing she can forever hold onto.

A flawless performance it is—  Reminiscent of simpler times with an allied face she has known since she was a child. One who would stay by her side even amongst the most difficult of obstacles. Upon Hubert’s beckon, her attention immediately diverts. To wear such a dress amidst a sea of large and vibrant ones is enough of a cue to make their suspect in question high on her priority. She knows she can’t make a proper guess as to whether or not their culprit can be apprehended unless they can get a closer look. “I do see that,” she begins. “I’ll speak to her— It would be too conspicuous if I did otherwise.” Perfectly in sync their movements remain, ending their dance with a soft spin at the cue of the music. There is no need to say more as her eyes speak for themselves.

With Hubert nearest the Imperial Princess, she approaches the woman and keeps her head lifted high. Before she can get a word in, their target takes a step back and offers a quiet greeting: “Oh? Good evening.. What a surprise to see you here, Your Highness. Is there a particular reason for your attendance?”

Edelgard’s weight shifts to one side, her words driven with force and wonder: “Hm? A surprise?” She begins. “I thought I should extend my regards to the Duke personally. Does that pose a problem?” The lady’s arms cross over her chest, eyes shifting between Hubert and Edelgard as if to discern why they would approach her of all people. Her skittish demeanor is not to be overlooked. “Well.. It’s not my place to meddle with your affairs, but I’m sure you’re very busy. As am I, in fact.”

Hubert does his best to subdue the smile creeping onto his face. The thrill of carrying out missions like these with his lady is one of Hubert’s greatest pleasures—he’d say it’d be difficult to control his excitement, but he’s grown far too accustomed to doing so. Either way, for the sake of hyperbole, he will.

“If there’s anything we can help you with, we’d be happy to,” Hubert interjects, with a syrupy and far-too-friendly tone. Anyone who knows him well at all could pick up on the false congeniality in his tone—it’s always a treat to play a character. The woman eyes him with a nonplussed gaze, unsure of what to say at first. But she quickly deflects.

“No, I’m quite alright. It’s nothing to bother yourself with,” she remarks with a stiff chuckle. She seems to slip into a false nonchalance after having been caught off-guard at first. Hubert catches Lady Edelgard’s eye at this change in attitude—apprehension practically radiates off of her expression, but it’s so subtle that only someone perceptive like Hubert would notice. He thins his lips in contemplation, a simple but communicative gesture. After a brief moment of connection, Lady Edelgard and her right-hand turn back to the woman. 

“Then, we shall leave you to it,” Hubert states, offering his arm to his lady and nodding his head back towards the dance floor. They’ve confirmed that this woman is painfully suspicious; it would be a waste to provoke her any further. The two of them would be better off watching and following from afar, taking action when she doesn’t notice.

“Thank you. Your Highness,” the woman says with a bow, bidding adieu to the two of them with a narrowed, secretive stare.

Hubert and Lady Edelgard retreat back to the dance floor, but they keep close eyes on the woman in black. They remain as inconspicuous as can be, twirling and intermingling amongst the crowd, but never for more than a second do their eyes peel away from their target. But, as if planned strictly to upend their scheme, a bellow reverberates through the hall. Shocked, Hubert’s eyes avert immediately to the sound of the yelp—alas, it was only the Duke’s declaration of a toast. A false alarm. Yet as Hubert turns back around to find the lady in black once more...

“I’ve lost sight of her,” Hubert whispers frantically. 

[heartoftheloathsome]

the unbearable pain of a squandered utensil

nagaficat​:

Deirdre smiles.  It is unusual to see Hubert so uncomfortable.  The poor dear must be worried that she would somehow think less of him for doing poorly.  Of course that is not at all the case!  No matter his skill, she will simply enjoy the time they’re spending together.

“I believe that a student and professor getting to know each other better is quite an important reason, would you not agree?“ All warmth in her voice is genuine. More than anything, she hopes to foster a relationship with each of her students. She cares for them deeply and wants them to know they can count on her. "Please do not worry about your skill. I have only recently been encouraged to pick up the bow myself. It is not easy!”

Graciously, she accepts the duty of shooting first. It is only fair, after all, since she is the one who has dragged him into this!

Deirdre takes one of the provided three arrows, knocks it, and takes a deep breath before letting it loose. It flies through the air and hits the outermost ring of the target. The archery professor overseeing the event gives a laugh and informs her that that counts as a miss. Deirdre laughs as well and turns to Hubert. “Well, it seems as though I will not be having a full set of utensils tonight!”

Hubert sighs. “I suppose I have to agree. It’s important to establish camaraderie between allies.” Hubert sincerely believes this; he has a... slight trust issue. And he admits that his inherent distrust in everyone around him is almost always misguided and due to his own isolation. Yet when he goes out of his way to remedy his mistrust and actually connect with people... he supposes it isn’t so bad. Hubert is glad to pick up on the kindness in his professor’s voice—he realizes that perhaps he may have indirectly offended her. He prays that isn’t the case “But, I apologize for being distant. It’s simply... who I am,” Hubert says enigmatically, refusing to elaborate any further. But he figures Deirdre will understand.

She fires her arrow, and Hubert watches intently as she misses the center. A mild smile crosses his lips, comforted by the knowledge that he isn’t alone in his ineptitude. Hubert chuckles at her quip, finding himself meekly amused by her warm carriage. 

Deirdre steps back and Hubert walks forward to raise his bow, slotting the arrow into the string. “And I presume you will not be alone,” he states with a self-deprecating grin. He squints, eyeing the center with a pierced gaze and a glint of determination. His hands tremble ever so slightly, skeletal digits unfamiliar with such intensive weapon handling. His muscles tense as he pulls back, attempting to keep the arrow as straight as possible. He finally releases, wincing at the recoil, anxiety shooting through his bones as he watches the projectile. 

It... barely lands on the target at all. It sticks right on the edge of it, wiggling a bit as it decides whether or not to fall off or settle in place. It barely hangs on.

Hubert turns back to Deirdre, shrugging. “Lady Luck is not on our side, I see,” he laments, but not without an air of lightheartedness. “Your turn.”

[heartoftheloathsome]

blanket to a knife fight ༊*·˚

heavenlyknight​:

It’s just a second nature, to drift towards where the crowd is thickest and get a glimpse at exactly why. Erinys cranes her head now, peering past others now to do exactly that. She hadn’t seen the announcement, only the flock of people.

So imagine her surprise when the man at the center of it all points directly at her.

“You!” His voice booms in the kind of way you would expect from someone accustomed to barking orders. Pegasus knight straightens, eyes darting left and right, confirming that the call had in fact been directed at her. “Looks like we’ve found our next contestant! Come forth!”

Another moment of hesitation, brows furrowed in confusion, but there are too many gazes on her now to allow a quick escape. Erinys sighs and steps forward, shouldering through the crowd and into the little clearing.

“Excuse me, but.. what exactly am I-”

“Here you are, m’lady! Your weapon for today’s duel is…!”

A fishing rod that looks one slightly-above-average carp away from snapping clean in two is thrust into her arms. Erinys blinks, startled, eyes flickering between the man and her new “weapon.” 

It’s kind of like a lance… almost? 

“Now, for our verdant knight’s opponent!” Question left completely unanswered, the announcer turns back towards the crowd. He brings his hand to his chin as though thinking, silent for a moment before extending his arm once more and pointing his finger through the center of the crowd. 

“YOU!!”

Hubert freezes in his tracks. Some haggard finger is pointed at his face, and it offends him for an inexplicable reason. His face contorts into a grimace as this old man screeches babble at him, each word reaching him like an individualized arrow carved to perfectly pierce Hubert’s nerves.

“You look like a frightening opponent! So, for you...” The man’s eyes flit around his surroundings. He bends down to reach for something with vigor—Hubert’s gaze only hardens in further confusion. And then in a flash, as if out of thin air, a huge object flies right into Hubert’s arms, and he catches it before he can even process what exactly it is.

“How cozy!” 

Hubert peers down at the giant heap of fabric in his arms. It’s heavy, colorful, and annoyingly soft for having been so rudely thrown at him without his consent. It’s a quilt, and it is unwieldy and gaudy and absurd in its existence. In every other patchy square, there is some sort of simple scene sewn on, with little humans and horses and pegasi alike doing miscellaneous things. It’s oddly wholesome, but Hubert’s heart doesn’t have room for cutesy patchwork. Hubert turns the thing around in his arms, examining it with scrutiny and narrowing his eyes as if the quilt itself was like some searing, blinding sight. 

“Are you so confounded?” The old man giggles. “My wife made that blanket for me. You’d better not ruin it!”

Hubert looks up. “Pardon me, ruin? I... I’m sorry—I have to ask why you’ve even thrown this ludicrous think at me in the first place,” he retorts with a biting snark.

“Why, have you no ears, or eyes? You are dueling this fine young lady with that blanket as your weapon!” The man turns around, gesturing towards a sweet, female knight clad in green. She appears just as nonplussed by this whole thing as Hubert, he observes as the two of them lock eyes.

Hubert admits, he just needed to pass through this courtyard. He sighs angrily, and it is a grating and cathartic thing that prepares his body for the inevitable. He might as well get in some good training while he’s here—he sure as hell doesn’t feel like maneuvering his way out of this. Theatrical old men such as this one here who has orchestrated this whole thing are some of the most stubborn people, Hubert has learned.

Hubert steps forth towards the girl. He acquiesces to his fate, extending a hand in an out-of-place but warm congeniality. But he soon regrets doing so, because the quilt nearly spills out of his other arm without the all-out support of both limbs. Is his dueling mate here truly going to be the enemy, or will it be this goddamned bedspread?

“My name is Hubert. I wish I had gotten to know you prior to this... embarrassing ordeal, but... I guess we shall duel,” he says with heavy reluctance. Despite that, he smiles. The girl’s friendly carriage comforts him, and he’s glad that he’s been matched with a modest girl like her. Hubert eyes her flimsy fishing rod; well, this will be a fascinating fight, won’t it?

[heartoftheloathsome]

(navi)gating a forest of fairytales

childofvalla​:

Anankos’ heart wavers ever so slightly at the boy’s words, but he still clutches the fairy close to his heart, as if he’s desperate to protect it from any harm that possibly could come to it. He fears the worst, and he hopes dearly that the boy does not intend to use it like some tool. His hands tremble ever so slightly, a muttered plea in a language long lost towards a God that had never existed slipping from his lips.

Crimson eyes looked up from a sea of blue locks to gaze upon the boy’s visage. He studies his face carefully, seeing the emotion that did not lie behind such callous eyes. He shakes slightly, standing from where he had slipped to the ground once again. He is suddenly aware how much the younger man towers over him and he smiles nervously.

“If this pegasus of yours is truly injured, there are easier ways to heal her than to exert another living creature…” His words wobble as much as his trembling hands and he feels yet again that he should have brought his cloak. He terrifies himself with the thoughts that the student should look upon his visage and feel only a deep disgust. He hopes that is not the case as much as hopes that the fairy will remain safe within the grip he still clutches it in.

“… I could…” He trails off, thinking that he does not deserve to lay hands on another living creature, that he can only cause more ruin to such things. He shakes off such thoughts, trying to find faith in his own skills once more.

“I could certainly try to heal her… I have learned a bit about Fodlan’s system of faith magic…”

Hubert freezes, but only just a tad. This certainly isn’t something he can’t skirt around. “Ah, that won’t be necessary. You see, I’ve already tried so much—faith, advanced medicines, anything I could get my hands on. Nothing’s worked so far, and this fairy is my last hope. So,” Hubert says, clearing his throat and attempting to fill his voice with some sort of exploitative, heightened sadness. It makes him cringe. Even though his vulnerability is feigned, it still feels horrendously uncomfortable for him to frame himself like this in front of another. Either way, he pushes forth. 

“Please?” Hubert beseeches. Saints, has he ever said the word ‘please’ in his entire life?

Hubert’s always gotten what he wanted, either through intense persuasion or manipulation or blackmail or force or violence or... worse than violence. (Hubert unfortunately cannot pinpoint the exact number of people he’s murdered; he prefers, though, not to attribute that to his depravity, but rather his efficiency when it comes to getting things done. No murder is without reason, anyway. And his depravity is not heightened by the atrocities he commits—it’s been at its max height since he was a boy.) But this strange, unnamed man has shown a combined form of cowardice and stubbornness that Hubert has never seen before. His obnoxious empathy towards the living has driven Hubert into a corner—one that he initially believed he could snake out of. However, that notion seems like a much harder challenge than it needs to be. 

Hubert’s lips thin into an impatient line. He wants to push father, encourage the man’s discomfort even more, but he simply lets the situation play out. He waits for a response, unarmed, quietly.

[heartoftheloathsome]

the unbearable pain of a squandered utensil

nagaficat​:

Deirdre would hardly mind eating without the proper utensils. Soup can always be slurped. Fingers can carefully pick up pieces of pesto pasta. If she got messy well, that is why they provide napkins! She is not an empress here. She no longer needs to perform to a certain standard.

Ah but this little game seems like it would be such fun! But certainly not alone. Games are meant to be played with friends, after all.

It seems as though most of the students are already grouping off with their friends. While she is glad to see that so many of them have others who love and care for them, Deirdre is left feeling rather alone. She had grown far too accustomed to being part of a pair.

Then she spies Hubert. One of her dear Black Eagles students. She has tried to befriend him before but he is difficult. Too guarded perhaps. This could be her chance to convince him to open up even just the tiniest bit. Surely he would not be hanging around watching the hungry archers if he had no intention of joining himself!

She takes two bows and two sets of three arrows and begins to make her way toward him when one of the arrows falls from her arms and rolls across the floor. When she reaches for it, so does Hubert.

Deirdre grins. “This game looks quite fun but I fear I would look terribly foolish playing alone. You will join me, yes?”

Hubert’s lips thin into an unsatisfied, mildly terrified line. If Deirdre were not one of his professors, he would feel inclined to do just about anything to get out of this situation. Manipulation, blackmail, perhaps even a little bit of violence—anything to not be put through this most dreadful situation. But while those fairly objectively bad acts do not bother his conscience as they should, disrespecting authority definitely does. 

“Ah, well...” Hubert’s gaze flits downward, veiling his exasperation beneath waves of black hair. “I do not think you would enjoy playing this game with me. I am not trained in the bow, and do not intend to improve my skills. But I... suppose, eh...” Hubert swallows as he eyes the arrow still held between his fingers. In an awkward and hesitant motion, he hands it back to Deirdre, placing it in her open palm. “If you need me for... some reason of importance, I’ll participate.

“Though, I will admit, I am not excited about the idea of eating without utensils. It’s undignified.” Hubert surveys the bows hanging on the wall of the training grounds with nervous indecision. He hasn’t touched a bow—nay, a proper weapon—ever since he was a young boy. He was a cocky, sassy child who believed himself better than physical weaponry, leading him to only study the metaphysical art of dark magic. Does he regret that decision, one that has resulted in a general corporeal frailty and an absolute ineptitude when it comes to any weapon larger than a kitchen knife? ...no, not normally. (Or, that’s what Hubert tries to convince himself.) But in this situation, he curses that small sassy child who has led him to this unfortunate scenario.

Hubert picks up a small bow, and he reluctantly acquires three arrows from Deirdre. He truly feels like karma’s plaything. He looks to Deirdre, praying that she doesn’t perceive him as an absolute buffoon as of now. As they move to find a set of targets, Hubert requests that his professor go first. 

[heartoftheloathsome]

In Ruins (Morgan-Hubert)

amnesiac-pawn​:

A small exhale through his nose, almost like a laugh; he chooses not to comment. Hubert knew little of his life, what he’d been through—there was nothing here that he hadn’t faced before. If Morgan could face god and win, he surely could find his way out of a maze. He did it just last week, after all…!

Fingertips drag against the wall, tracing the grooves and moss that were their own decoration. It was damp and cold, and certainly unsettling, but the earthly nature of the maze was somewhat of a comfort. It wasn’t glowing prisons or futuristic machinery—this was something they could handle.

All too quickly, Morgan finds himself alone. His footsteps pause, hand falling back to his side.

“Hubert?”

A small flame flickers to life in his palm. Morgan raises his fire out in front of him, but the Eagle was long gone; panic settles quickly into his throat. “Hubert?” he asks again, to no response.

Before he can take a step back in the direction he came, something sharp pierces through the fabric of his uniform and the hoodie underneath, right into his skin.

Morgan screams.

Truthfully, it’s more from shock and fright than pain; although the teeth that tear into him are sharp, they do far more damage to his uniform than his actual skin. Morgan pulls out of the beast’s grasp, whirling around to face his enemy.

A plant-like creature stood tall before him. It resembled a venus flytrap, with a gaping maw at its head that snarled viciously at the mage, salivating with something that certainly smelled dangerous. The stem connecting it to the ground was littered with thorns, a purplish hue at the tips; instinctively, Morgan wondered if touching one would poison him.

His shoulder stings with the telltale sign of poison—something he was becoming accustomed to, much to his chagrin. Grimacing, he stumbles backward, out of the plant-beast’s reach. One hand comes up to grip at his wound, while the other squeezes the hilt of his sword in reassurance. It should die if he just cuts through its root, right?

And so he does: his first utilization of the Levin sword, and it’s not even for magic. With a shaky horizontal slash, Morgan severs the monster from the ground. A liquid akin to the one dripping from its mouth spurts from the root; the moss and vines it sprays onto shrivel and wither away.

With a relieved sigh, mage relaxes, leaning against the nearest wall for support. Now, just to get back to Hubert—

The thing wasn’t dead.

And now it was squirming across the ground at a rapid pace.

Morgan turns on his heel and runs. “Burn it, burn it, burn it!!”

Any energy that had been sapped from Hubert’s body returns like a blazing wildfire, searing his skin and filling his palms with the instinctive itch of dark magic. Hubert braces himself as the plant demon chases Morgan, its assailant, with a lolling tongue and venom spluttering from its mouth. Morgan’s hollers are high-pitched and deafening and would be peculiarly hilarious in any other situation. Except, they are at the doors of death, not the doors of an opéra comique. 

The wriggling creature doesn’t have eyes, giving it a terrifyingly soulless demeanor that makes it even more threatening. Because of this fact, Hubert struggles to predict its movements. During battle, he often exploits heightened human emotion in order to incite mistakes and get the psychological leg-up. Now, however, Hubert has nothing but raw skill and perception to rely on. He heaves in breath after labored breath, watching as the plant scurries and hisses and jerks back and forth, encroaching ever closer. He shakes his head as a dark shudder washes through him. 

Hubert readies his stance and aims his hands towards the ground in front of him. A violent burst of Miasma rips through his veins, drawing out a groan from between his tight ribs. The spell bounces off the stone floor, its impact exploding in front of the creature’s head and sending it into a momentary, disoriented flight. Watching it soar through the air with a pained screech brings a smile to Hubert’s face. But his joy fleets as soon as he realizes that the spell had created a thick, noxious fog that lingers in the thick air of the corridor.

The magenta cloud conjured by the hex creates an opaque shroud between the monster and its opponents. Hubert panics, realizing that the monster would have the upper hand in this situation; it clearly doesn’t rely on sight, so any impediments to he and Morgan’s own sight would only benefit the creature. Combined with the darkness, the monster is near impossible to see.  

When Hubert is at his wit’s end, he stoops to what he believes in the most degenerate form of combat: brute force. He slings another dense orb of Miasma in front of him, praying that he put enough power behind the throw to pierce the cloud entirely. The fumes part just as Hubert had envisioned, but he fails to strike the monster. 

Hubert turns to Morgan. “In retrospect, I should’ve learned fire magic.” Hubert wonders if his dark magic had reacted strangely with the creature’s own poisons. Either way, he doesn’t have time to think as the monstrous critter launches itself right at Hubert’s legs. 

[heartoftheloathsome]

SEPTEMBER ACTIVITY CHECK ; passed

skill points earned: 1 (monthly)

total skill points: 5 → 6

skill changes: Reason C+ (rank up!)

[heartoftheloathsome]

(navi)gating a forest of fairytales

childofvalla​:

He flusters, wondering if he had taken his words too far. Perhaps saying that he would protect this small creature with his entire life was a bit too much. But he couldn’t help how emotional he tended to get. Perhaps it was all that he lost, that he did not wish to see anything be taken from him, even if it was a little fairy he had cupped into his hands mere moments ago.

He feels the need to apologise to the boy, even though he knows that there is truly no reason to. He has done nothing wrong, other than try to protect something that he wished to care for.

“I’m so sorry…! I didn’t mean to be rude!” He’s so flustered by his own behaviour, that he takes no more notice of the boy’s own. He clutches the fairy close to his chest, sinking down to the ground next to the tree he had fallen.

“Allow me to ask you something… then I shall consider if I give it to you.” He pauses in thought, allowing himself to glance up and full take in the boy’s face for the first time. It is now that he notices, that the boy hides his own visage, half shrouded by locks as dark as the night around them. He shakes his hair out of his face, letting himself be fully shown, as if it might make the young man seem to trust him more. Anankos doesn’t wish to be seen as an enemy, but nor does he see himself wanting to get completely close to humans once again. He’s scared, that he may hurt such fragile creatures more than he already has, a thought that terrifies him throughout every waking moment. Yet another reason he found himself hiding away more and more with each passing day, the fear would overwhelm, and perhaps one day overtake him, if he allowed himself to be as free as the students of the monastery. With how fragile his mind was, it wasn’t a risk that he was willing to take at the moment.

“Why do you wish to have it? If you are scheming something sinister, I do not trust you to take a living creature into your hands. I do not meant to pass judgement unfairly, but my trust is a hard thing to receive these days.”

Hubert sighs. Clearly, if this man had been hunting for fairies as well, he was aware of the Academy’s mission. it would be strikingly abnormal if he was catching fairies simply to catch fairies, unless he had some express personal use for them. Hubert explains, attempting to level his temper, “Garreg Mach told their students about these wild fairies, and I figured I’d see if the seemingly-tall tale was real. And, lo and behold, it is. I do not specialize in healing magic, but something this fantastical couldn’t possibly pass me by.” Hubert isn’t exactly lying, but he isn’t telling the full truth either. He decidedly does not want to admit that he had made a bet with a pink-haired mage out of a desperation for her to leave him alone. Serra would never let him hear the end of it if he came back empty-handed. 

Hubert realizes that his reasoning is not strong enough, however. Uncomplicated curiosity would not persuade this man who seems so disturbingly intent on keeping the pixie for himself. On one hand, telling the truth could elicit the man’s sympathy; but on the other, it could further incentivize him to refuse Hubert’s request on the fact that his bet is particularly selfish. 

Well, when Hubert hits walls like this, he always has a reliable last resort: lying.

“And, you see... well, I pray you understand when I tell you this, since you seem to care so dearly for life in all its forms.” Hubert laces his tone with a vulnerable, empathetic façade. These kinds of emotions are not so easily worn in authenticity, but Hubert finds it strangely easy to present them in fallacy. “My pegasus was... sorely injured, in a fight recently. I’m worried that she won’t properly recover from her wounds. I hoped that... perhaps these healing fairies might provide a glimmer of hope for her.” 

Hubert’s eyebrows upturn with sentiment, his shoulders slump in an intentional attempt to look smaller, and he does his best to conceal the condescending glint threatening to surface in his eyes.

[heartoftheloathsome]

last surprise

hresvelged​:

One would be misguided to think Edelgard can easily blend in within a crowd given her status, for the next emperor is a name to remember. She knew this prior to her acceptance, but she never has been the type to let any obstacles become a barrier. As expected, the space is adorned in lights and decorations from top to bottom. A grand ball fitting for a duke as faces offer their greetings to the princess.

She subtly tilts her head upwards as Hubert speaks to her, eyes fixed on the ballroom in front of them. Edelgard has attended events such as this in the past, all filled with dancing and loud chatter about heirs and lands. She matches Hubert’s tone, voice softened yet clear: “Hm.. Our attendance is to be disguised by declaring ourselves as guests. It would be in our favor if we mingle and act as if nothing is astray.”

What catches her attention are those leaning off to the sides away from the center of the room– For all she knows, perhaps this thief in question may be working with someone else. She would hardly find that worth a surprise. Mercenary bands exist within the realm, as do those who will disguise themselves for the sole purpose of a gain.

“Let’s start by perusing the space and keeping an eye out for those who stand out. The best view of the ballroom would be from the dance floor.” There is a fleeting memory from long ago of a girl who’s Adrestian waltz graced ballrooms, precise and dignified. To think of such things now amidst a heist is insignificant, and thus, she keeps it to herself. “It may be worthwhile to head nearest there and see what we can spot or hear. What do you say, Hubert?”

Ah, it’s been far too long since he’s danced. Hubert isn’t quite sure if the surge of nervousness in his stomach stems from anxiety or excitement, but either way, he resolves to tackle this brazen endeavor with aplomb. A cheeky grin finds its way upon his lips, and he turns to Lady Edelgard, meeting her eyes with a dedicated, dazzling zeal. “Alright, then. Shall we?” 

He leads her to the ballroom floor, weaving between dancing couples in order to find an open space for the two of them to mimic the crowd. And once they do, it takes not a second longer to fall into step with his lady. The slow, intimate waltz allows for their dance to be harmonious, pointedly coordinated, and captivating in its grace—a direct product of years of youthful dancing, inside and outside of lessons. 

But dancing has never been a technical undertaking. The satisfaction from doing a correct series of steps, or executing a precise twirl or dip, pales in comparison to the euphoria he feels from dancing with Lady Edelgard. Hubert doesn’t even hesitate to admit that the smile on his face is authentic. When he’s with her, lucid and basking in the bliss of their dance, he feels comfortable in his own skin; content with himself, confident within his own presence. If the two of them weren’t on a mission, and Hubert could focus all of his attention on the way they unify their movements with their minds, the way his lady twirls and leaves behind trails of unseen, snow-like mist in her wake, redolent of the exalted beauty of her person, he might feel true peace. But alas, he scans the ballroom, Lady Edelgard’s hand in his own, eyes attuned to things he wishes they didn’t have to be.

He watches any figures lurking in corners or sidling against walls who might attempt to make themselves less seen. He notes one individual who looks out of place. The combination of her solitude, her grave but vigilant demeanor, and the abnormally simple dress she wears elicits wariness in Hubert. The slim, loose black dress has few embellishments or excess extremities—the color would naturally veil her in the shadows, and the lack of a corset would allow for immense ease of movement. Hubert nearly laughs; if she is indeed the thief, she isn’t being conspicuous in the slightest. 

Hubert steps to Lady Edelgard’s side, bringing her hand in the air and spinning her on her toes. Now in opposite positions, Hubert pulls her close to his chest, leaning down ever so minutely so she can peer over his shoulder. He whispers into her ear, “Do you see the woman in the black dress? She’s caught my eye. A suspect, I’m certain.”

The waltz’s tempo picks up rapidly. Hubert steps backward, subtly nearing the woman that has now caught their suspicions.