Growing Wings

⠀⬩⠀sprezzatura

ethereal ball '26　|　white heron cup, round 1 match 8

macnaradhaigh

"Your forms are very strong. It is a sign of good training," Petra nods. "You must continue after the White Heron Cup so that we may be matching again next time." Earnestness begets earnestness, and the weight of self-appointed expectation begins to soften at the edges, even as Ananke begins discussing the next round's choreography, and even as the small knot in her stomach begins to tighten despite her best intentions.

Emma chimes in, and Petra's eyes alight at the thought. "Professor, I am thinking this is a good idea. I would like to show you that I have put my foot forward in learning the steps you have taught." She tries the idiom out, and its curves feel clumsy on her tongue. She tries again, simpler this time. "I... I will do better." In the aftermath of her promise, the announcer's voice booms overhead, signaling the end of Round 1. "Shall we go? It is time."

#character: petra #character: ananke #post type: thread #thread: sprezzatura #whiteheroncup2026

——End🪶

⠀⬩⠀sprezzatura

ethereal ball '26　|　white heron cup, round 1 match 8

SWORDS, LANCES, AXES, BOWS.　𐂂　both of the younger girls were such fighters, and the way the brown-haired one got so excited about it reminded her of some of the boys in the watch when they first joined, always eager to prove their stuff and kill as many monsters as they could. nothing wrong with that, of course, but for every go-getter swinging their heart out on the front lines, there had to be someone following to patch them up.

that's not too far off from the answer to the question, actually. "oh, it's not a dance that was made for two people. petra has such a unique style, don't you think? i really wanted to make it shine." the girl had called her like a griffon, after all——which, unlike cranes, she had gotten to meet for the first time at the stables during her grounds tour——which makes her feel as proud as if she'd been the one to get the compliment. "if i tried to muddy it up by being in there, it wouldn't have been half as good. and we just didn't have the time."

"we should start thinking of something different for the second round though, if we end up making it." she's not sure how this actually works, but it's hard to imagine the judges being impressed by the same thing twice.

#post type: thread #thread: sprezzatura #unit name: ananke #unit name: petra #whiteheroncup2026

Emma nods vigorously along all the while as the woman explains, intently listening. She didn't even think of that as an option—having one person come up with the choreography, and one person perform it. What a crafty idea! She breaks into a sheepish grin. "...heheh, my other scores were actually pretty bad, so you guys are probably a shoo-in to make it to round 2," she reveals, playing with her loose hair.

Seeing how much thought they'd put into their performance, she's not surprised. Emma had been so focused on practicing her execution; she hadn't even realized how much work goes into the process before that point. Every time she climbs a little higher, she realizes just how much further she has to go.

So, maybe she shouldn't offer her thoughts when they bring up choreography. But she can hardly ever resist doing so, and especially when she's feeling enthusiastic. It helps that she's usually rewarded—even when she's wrong, she usually ends up learning something. "Maybe you could take the same dance and put a twist on it? They think they're going to see the same thing at first, and then, bam!"

⠀⬩⠀sprezzatura

ethereal ball '26　|　white heron cup, round 1 match 8

WAIT, WHAT WAS PETRA DOING?　𐂂　that. . . well, it was the choreography she'd prepared, but it wasn't really like what they'd practiced for all of the thirty minutes they'd practiced at all while all the other contestants before them had been going. but as she watched, nervous and unsure what to make of everything, gradually her unease bleeds away little by little as petra goes on. it wasn't what they'd practiced, but it was actually really good. all they'd had to do, she'd said, was bring out the girl's powerful style, and she's definitely done that, no question about it.

and there it is——a showstopping ten, just like she'd thought. the other two come up, and they're not as impressive, but they're not terrible either. four was only a little underwhelming.

she'd take it for how slapdash it was, definitely.

"hey! you did so great." her voice is a whisper-shout as she waves the girl over, quickly replaced by another who's rushing to take the stage for the next performance. ananke watches her out of the corner of her eye as she puts an arm around petra's sweaty shoulders to give a supportive pat. "what was that jump you pulled out of nowhere? i didn't show you that." but she'd leaped like elnias itself had possessed her, no worse than the best of the best from back home. it actually makes a little nostalgic, but she's not going to say anything about that.

the last performance of the first round doesn't go on for long, and she's clapping politely with the rest of them when the girl strikes her final pose——quietly, since they're backstage. she doesn't see from here what the scores are, but when the girl runs toward them to take her exit, she's exhilarated as if she'd already won the trophy.

"they gave me a ten in technique! can you believe it? a ten out of ten!"

ananke doesn't know who she's saying it to——no one looks to be rushing up to greet and congratulate her——but she grins anyway since she's standing there, the joy and pride radiating off her for her own performance palpable and more than a little infectious.

"great job! looks like you're making it to the next round then." she glances at petra too, smiling. "one of the judges told me that they saw the choreography while we were practicing and would've given it a ten. too bad they don't allow trios, or we would've gotten a full score combined."

macnaradhaigh

"You as well, Professor." Petra's breathing steadies as she watches their competitor--Emma, the announcer had said. "The jump." She parrots it back to the mercenary, not quite a question, not quite a statement. Her eyes are trained on the stage, but watching something beyond the performance. "... The spirits asked and I adhered." The corners of her lips turn down, a sudden look of recognition flashing across her features as she turns to Ananke. "Apologies, I was not thinking on how it would affect our score. If we are moving to the next round, I will endeavor to memorize the steps more exactly."

Returning her focus back to the stage, ocher eyes watch the girl's hands extend with a fluidity that catches her by surprise. There is a certain comfort with movement that the girl has that Petra can appreciate--a certain freedom in the gesture that feels like running through fields of tall grass, like breathing wild air.

Emma rejoins them back stage, and Petra can't help smile. "Yes, a formidable foe we would be, the three of us!" She turns to their competitor, hand to chin. "Your form. Does it come from sword work, lancing, or axe mastery? Is it something else? I am thinking your parries must be without fault as well." As her rambling trails, her hand moves from her chin and stamps her palm, determined. "We must train together. I have much to learn from you." She nods, once, as if punctuating the thought.

#character: ananke #character: petra #toaball2026 #whiteheroncup2026 #post type: thread #thread: sprezzatura

“With me? Really?” She’s genuinely caught a little off-guard—she’s usually the one to ask if she can train with someone else, and it usually came with the impression that she was getting more out of it than they were. Is this what it felt like to feel flattered?! “Well, I usually use a lance or a bow when I need to get serious, but I’ve been trying to bring my sword skills up to snuff, and I’ve gotta get back to my axe studies if I ever want to ride a wyvern again—”

Huh. Come to think of it, when did that list get so long? She stops herself before she risks getting completely lost in her own recollection.

“I dunno if you need my help, though. Your dance was so cool! It reminded me of a griffon! So fierce and pretty!” Enthused and with sparkles in her eyes, she waves her hands—it’s a wonder she still has energy left after the day she’s had, but that’s the power of the teenage body. She turns to the woman, pink-headed and dressed in greens. Emma’s gathered from context clues that she was involved in the dance, but never completely dismissing the idea that she could be wrong, she asks tentatively anyway: “Are you the one who put it together? Why didn’t you decide to perform it, too?”

⠀⬩⠀sprezzatura

ethereal ball '26　|　white heron cup, round 1 match 8

SHE'S NOT COMPLETELY SURE IF PETRA GOT IT OR NOT.　𐂂　to be fair, they hadn't had a lot of time, and she'd come up with the choreography on the spot. most of it was inspired by the kind of dance she'd done growing up and few other things she'd learned at the academy in notia, and then it was a matter of keeping it simple enough to learn in a few minutes but interesting enough to hopefully catch the judges' attention. she had no idea what they'd be looking for here.

it was a tall order.

but, like she'd said before: new people had to stick together, right? petra was a student, so she should be the one to take the lead and watch out for her. as a teacher⠀(⠀sort of⠀) ,⠀her job was to lift up the students and make sure they could shine, right?

"trust me. you've got a special style. it's not like any of the other dancing i've seen here tonight. if we just make sure to bring that out, that's the best we can do."

she has a feeling this little competition might actually matter a lot to petra, so she flashes a cheerful smile to try and lift her spirits——and because she feels a little bad now just grabbing her to do it together without thinking ; she hadn't thought it'd be that serious. "come on, it's just for fun!"

"next entrants: ananke and petra with ' the birds of paradise '!"

after the whole crane thing and the chicken comment, she'd thought going along with the bird scheme would be appropriate. besides, petra looked like one of those hidden forest birds herself, all dark magenta and gem-like green. and she was the centerpiece of it all.

"that's us! let's go!"　/　@macnaradhaigh ,⠀@shiningfalcon

22 points on ananke but i didn't end up writing the dance so (waves hand)

macnaradhaigh

"Yes, for fun." Petra nods, brows furrowing despite herself. "I will do my best, Professor." Resolution (which can be fun in its own right, she reasons) fills her chest as the two step onto the stage. Taking their positions, callused hands find their position over her head, pointed like so, as Ananke had instructed.

The music begins and strong legs leap, sending Brigid's daughter into the air to land on one foot before bringing the other foot around in a half moon. She thinks back to the dance forms of home, strong and expressive in their low stances and wide eyes. The steady drumming of the chants of her ancestors guide her feet, her arms, the arch of her back in time with the music as she explodes and collapses in syncopated time.

The music concludes, and Petra's chest heaves as she holds her ending position, eyes twinkling at Ananke as applause begins and she takes her position next to the professor. The first score rings out. Pride wells in her chest and spills out into a wide grin. 10 points for style. She whispers silent gratitude to her forebearers.

4 points for choreography. Though unhappy with the score, Petra can't blame the judges for their eagle eyed critique; she had studied the steps that Ananke had prepared in the early morning hours just before the White Heron Cup began. Many of the competitors had worked for weeks to perfect their steps, and it would be incorrect for Petra's last-minute preparations to be scored any higher. Surely her final score would make up for the delta.

Her brow flattens. 4 points--below average on technique? "Professor, I am thinking the judges have organized their cards in a strange way..." She says it more for herself than for anyone else. Was there something wrong with her core strength? Perhaps the hand extensions looked weak and flimsy. Surely her control had been above average, had it not? 18 points is a fine score, but... This will not do at all.

"I am looking forward to your performance." Petra calls out to their competitor--a lithe young stranger she had yet to meet. Ocher eyes follow the girl steadily, adding to her running list of notes to crack the scoring system.

Please welcome to the stage... @shiningfalcon!

#whiteheroncup2026 #toaball2026 #character: ananke #character: petra #post type: thread #thread: sprezzatura

"Oh, you too!" Nerves have her say in reflex with an accompanying strong nod, before she realizes, Emma, you've already seen her performance, you dummy! and quickly follows up to save it. "I mean, um—thank you! I hope it knocks your socks off!"

And then she hears them call for her, and as though by their own volition her legs hurry her off to the front of the stage.

The girl gives a quick but deep bow to the judges, and they nod back at her in acknowledgement before the music begins. She had come up with this one herself, after years of watching the other students around her dance with her own awestruck eyes. It is, by all objective measures, an odd choreography, a patchwork of pieces she had admired from afar. Steps from here and there and everywhere, there is something about it that almost comes across as gluttonous, assembled without restraint or thought for the fact that centerpieces only shine when given room to breathe.

But: she doesn't trip.

No stumbles, no misplaced feet or unnecessary movements. From start to finish she carries herself without a partner to catch her. When the music concludes, there she stands, chest rising and falling with healthy exertion, sweat in her eyes stinging, and all she can compare the feeling to is her first time flying without being flanked by her mentors, free in the air.

She had not fallen then, and she had not fallen here, either.

The girl watches the judges raise their cards one by one. A 2 in style stings—but in post, she recognizes she'd been so nervous the whole way through she hardly remembers what she did. A 2 in choreography seals the deal—she's lost. Exceptional work by her standards was unremarkable to the rest of the world. She had been prepared to accept defeat from the start, and she's prepared for the final card to reflect how far she has left to go, too.

But the final card raises, the one that represents technique, and it's a 10.

For a moment, she stands stock still while it sinks in. Then she bows, thanking them in as composed a manner she can manage, before hurrying offstage.

"They—they gave me a ten in technique!!" She exclaims once she is once again backstage, In spite of her lackluster score, she seems elated to the point of tears, erupting into a flurry of giggles. Klutzy, absentminded Emma practicing hard enough to get a ten in technique. "Can you believe it? A ten out of ten!"

14 points on Emma's performance

While the festivities of the ball commence, one girl practices in a classroom as far removed from the glitz and glamor as she can find.

She whirls, she prances, she bends and flexes—the tulle and silk of her borrowed dress flutter with each nervous movement. Her rehearsal will extend until it's time for the White Heron Cup to begin. She doesn't dare to detour for the snacks or drinks and risk the integrity of her dress, paid for through weeks of personal and professional deliveries.

She's under no mistaken impression that she will be perfect. It doesn't relieve her of the responsibility to do her best.

#whiteheroncup2026

Finders Keepers, right?

May Mission - Any Skill +1

Emma's confidence allows Niamh to accept one thing as true - that between the Armor and Emma, that strange specter doesn't have a chance. Maybe it's the way Emma rallies both herself and Niamh on. Maybe it's her judgement on the weaponry the armor's chosen to use against someone like Emma.

Perhaps it's because the armored being is only a piece to their concerns.

Another wisp ignites, this time a bright blue. As it darts away, more fliers take flight, the haunting flap of their feathery wings coming from the north and south. If she can't help take care of them, then Emma won't be able to stop the armor. She's about to ready her lance for their descent when out of the corner of her eye, she spots something - or someone - stringing an arrow and taking aim.

With a quick swipe of her lance, the ghostly archer is caught off guard. She prepares another swipe, and this time, the ground before the archer disappears, sending them to a space unknown.

Her use of [Boundless Chaos] was beginning to take toll on her, though. In a space like this, she's fortunate enough that it's even possible to begin with, given the bizarre nature of these lands. But as the fliers draw closer, Niamh can't help but wonder how to best approach the growing number of enemies.

Hopefully, Emma's not doing worse...

#{{ excuse my interruption everyone return to your regularly scheduled balling while i put my girl on the dash #character: niamh #post type: thread #thread: finders keepers right?

Niamh's confidence in Emma is earned—if she could hear it for herself, Emma would find it heartening, albeit a little nerve-wracking. She expects that crimson spectral armor to take a stab at her, and she allocates the space between them accordingly.

She reacts with a yelp, then, when the ground beneath her opens up in a burst of magic that she isn't quite deft enough to dodge on such short notice.

But she's made of tougher stuff than that—her arms still tingle with the singe of magic, but they bring her bow aloft anyway. She fires two well-aimed strikes, one of which knocks its helm from its neck, and the second of which embeds itself in an arm. The force of the blow is enough to knock it unsteady; it topples.

The little soldier girl knows an opportunity when she sees one. She strings two more arrows and lets them loose. They fly true, straight through the now unprotected neck and through to the spirit within, dispelling it.

Bow still raised, Emma waits a couple moments. When it continues to lie unmoving, she relaxes her arms. "This one's all done!" She calls out, cupping her free hand around her mouth so that hopefully the sound will make it to wherever Niamh has found herself.

Tina has been carrying them around in her pockets for weeks waiting for the chance to run into Emma. She doesn't know where the other girl hangs out or when she hangs out there but the monastery is only so big, right? They're bound to run into each other eventually. And the super special perfect little gift she found is small enough that it's not awkward carrying it around everywhere she goes.

Then it finally happens! She finds Emma!

"EMMA! EMMA! LOOK!" She runs at her whipping a small box out and handing it to her. She's practically bouncing as she waits for Emma to open it. Inside is a set of oversized false eyelashes and a little bottle of glue. "I found these in the marketplace and bought one for you! I have a set too! I can't figure out how to put them on so they aren't like totally crooked but maybe we can figure it out together so we can be total baddies!!!"

Just like Mr. Donkey. May he rest in peace. Amen.

"Tina!" She looks between the little package and Tina—down, up, down, and back up. The time spent doing so is just enough, and what Tina's said finally sinks in. Her eyes when she looks back at her are wide and bright. "Wait, really? For me? Are you sure?" She asks, as though half-expectant that the other girl will change her mind.

But she doesn't, and so Emma grins instead. She's never received a gift like this before, she has no idea how these are even used, but it's a gift nonetheless, and a vaguely sentimental one, too. She pinches a lash between the fingers and holds it up to the light to look at it more closely, squinting her non-dominant eye shut. "Heheh, they kinda look like the ones we drew." They're certainly no less bold, that's for sure. She wonders if Shade or Poe wear anything like this. "Do you really think I could pull them off? I feel like they might look silly on me..."

Emma lowers her hand, holding them out in front of her now instead to visualize what Tina would look like with them on. Crooked, huh? She's not really sure she'd be able to apply them to herself any better...

A light goes off in her head. "Oh! Wait, maybe if you do mine and I do yours, it'll be easier!"

#{{ i literally kept this in my inbox just in case you reran her hahahah #character: tina #post type: ask #{{ blast from the fucking past

Finders Keepers, right?

May Mission - Any Skill +1

With another flick of her wrists, a second round of magic collides with the archer, the remains of which return to the earth it must - she theorizes - where it may have came from. The safety, if one could call it that, does not last for long. In the distance, she hears the flap of more winged riders, and so she takes initiative to find cover. Unlike the archers, she decides her lance will do better to bring them out from the sky. As she awaits their approach, she applies a medical herb to her wounds. It's nothing that'll provide any miracles, but she'll take anything to get an advantage here. Because, if she can keep the momentum, then Emma can- What was that about still counting? Her head turns towards the source of Emma's voice. There, she spots it - the unmistakable figure of something brought back into being. "No way..." She glances back and forth. "Emma, the wisp...can you take it down?" She asks, readying her lance on the aerial threats.

#thread: finders keepers right?#character: niamh #post type: thread

“Do I have to?"

No—that was a stupid question. Bad Emma! She was a falcoknight by some metrics, wasn’t she? Slaying the undead was in the job description. It didn’t matter if they were creepy, flickering souls animating blood-rusted armor from who knows how long ago, surely brought back to life with the sole and mindless purpose of killing little girls just like her. This was supposed to be her specialty.

It didn’t make her lip quiver any less. But her lip quivering had never meaningfully stopped her from firing a bow, either.

“Don’t answer that! I do have to! If we don’t kill them, we’ll never find the treasure!” She grits her teeth and closes the distance. The head of the armor rotates first, unnaturally smooth upon its nonexistant neck, then follows the torso, and finally the shuffling steps of its legs. It’s lumbering movements almost ease her into a calm—rarely is she confident, but she feels pretty close to it thinking about how they’ll match up in a contest of reflexes.

“Let’s put this thing back in the dirt where it belongs!”

Refine / Renew

With the monastery having many of their weapons taking a beating through the previous season, many knights and students alike flock to local blacksmiths in the various territories to learn how to make their own weapons or do their own repairs [...]

dyshonor

-- RANDAL'S EYES FLICK, SLOW and sideways, to the lance the moment it's set down- then back to Emma, brow lifting a fraction like she's just asked him whether the sky's always been up there. He lets the moment rest, long and tender.

Then he snorts, sharp and helpless, laughter dragged out of him like a cough you can't shake. "Now hold on," he says, palms lifting in surrender even as his heel nudges the spear a hair further from the edge of the table. "I didn't say I was good at every weapon." His grin tugs crooked, unfazed by the accusation. "Just the ones that're polite enough t'fit in my hands."

He leans in, squinting at the lance with exaggerated scrutiny, tapping a knuckle against the shaft like it might answer back if questioned sternly enough. "This thing's got ideas. Long ones. Weapons like that?" A tilt of his head, mock-serious. "They don't want fixin'. They want negotiation."

The humor fades just a touch as he straightens, elbow braced on the bench, sweat still clinging stubbornly at his temples.

"But don't get the wrong idea," he adds, quieter now, nodding toward her earlier words. "There ain't one trick that makes a knight 'proper'. I ain't a shining example by any means- if I even were one- but it's all just... bits an' pieces. You pick 'em up when you can. Miss a few. Learn 'em late. Hell, some folk never bother."

And then, letting the moment pass like a flame in a storm: "Just look at yers truly! If we've got the time, you're right- lets get this one back to the professional." A guffaw at his own handiwork, lifting the spear up and smearing more grime than removing it. "But don't you worry. If your lance starts complainin', that I can handle. I just got a special sorta awful in my arsenal, 't seems."

#thread: refine renew #character: randal #post type: thread

"You can't fix it for me," She protests immediately, with complete commitment to the thought. Even entertaining the idea felt like letting herself be coddled, and Emma was well and thoroughly done with being coddled. "I'm going to learn how to do it myself! Next time you see me, I'm going to have the shiniest, spick-and-span-est weapon on the battlefield."

As though that alone would get her somewhere. To her, though, it almost feels like it would.

Each of them has been provided the supplies necessary, and so with renewed dedication (and maybe a little spite that she will not acknowledge), she scoops the gritty mixture that she has learned is a mix of oil and sand and dollops it atop the lance head that sits in front of her. The rust is the most apparent issue, after all—so it's the one she seeks to fix first.

"..." The little knight-in-training puffs her cheeks, humming with displeasure. She doesn't know if she believes it—it's not as though she's that far away from adulthood, and everyone she knows who's already there feels miles away from where she stands. But even Randal, for all his flaws, was out of her league, so she is forced to consider that it might be true. "What if the stuff you miss is important? What if the time you learn something makes a difference?" She asks, dismayed, but surely only asking because she hopes he has an answer.

"If I learn how to stop being a klutz a billion years from now, I guess that'll be nice for billion-year-old Emma," She murmurs, eyes downcast. "But that means for the billion years between now and then, I'll still make all the same mistakes."

All the people she cares about between now and then will have to deal with this Emma, the learning Emma, the Emma who still doesn't know.

And that's if she's lucky. That's if they're still around.

ACTIVITY CHECK - APRIL 2026

Activity Check — Passed!

#toaactivity

Behind Closed Doors

You can’t expect the rich and wealthy to wash their own floors, dress themselves, or cook their own food. A community of the elite, therefore, is only ¼ “elite” and ¾ “common service workers.” [...] (Any +1)

peerlessscowl

Thoughtful for only a passing second, Raven tapped his hand on his thigh in a gesture of consideration, thumb then pinky then again, before coming to a decision - the action only passed the space of a heartbeat, before he nodded at her. He had meant to take the curtains down first, to make the work of mending them an excuse for any onlookers who might have stumbled upon the scene, in or out of doors, and while he wasn't concerned about the same things as she in that moment, he couldn't fault her for being thorough. It was the kind of thought that he would have, in her shoes.

"Start with the shelves closest to the desk," he said, setting the ledger down onto the desk for the time being, to free his hands for his own task. "Start at eye-level - eye-level for someone my size."

He wasn't the type to keep a journal, or a diary, or really any sort of indication of who he was or where he had been - but he'd been raised in a household that did. Either his father's, or the head butler, or even his mother's, better hidden by far.

Raven froze for a split-second in rolling up his sleeves, frowning at the thought, but dismissing it for later before it could make purchase in his mind and distract them from the task at hand.

"I," he continued, taking hold of one end of the curtains in question, dense things, heavier than appearances would suggest - and tugging sharply, causing a rip along the edge that was too clean for his liking, and so he tugged from a different angle, "need to make a mess first."

#{{ putting raven and emma into hikaku sitatter to see the difference in their eye level and having a sensible chuckle #thread: behind closed doors #post type: thread #character: raven

It was rare that she regretted being as small as she was—a short and lithe frame made for a smaller target that was easier to carry quickly by a pegasus—but eye level for him is straining on tiptoe for her, bracing the palms of her hands against one of the lower shelves on the bookcase for leverage. Couldn’t these people put their important things in places that were a little more accessible to everyone?

…probably not, in this case, huh?

She manages to stifle a gasp at the sound of tearing fabric from out of her sight, though her head does whirl instinctively. The realization of what he is doing is quick, and the why follows it a heartbeat later. “If we need to, we can tell them that I tripped,” she suggests, turning back to the bookshelf. It’d make for a convincing lie; she can very easily imagine herself bringing the curtain down with her in a moment of clumsiness. “That way, they can just take me for a scolding and you can do whatever you might need to do."

Emma reaches a hand up from its current perch to trace the spines of the books with a finger, in the hopes that touch might reveal something that sight hasn't. Her brow furrows. She isn't sure what draws her to do it, but she pulls a book from the shelf. Then, another, and a third. All based on a baseless hunch. It may very well be as simple as these ones being the brightest on the shelf. A modest stack forms on the shelf that's easiest for her to reach.

She flips the first one open. She swears she hears footsteps, only to realize it's her own heartbeat in her ears—which she can only hope isn't drowning out any actual approach. "I'll find something." She doesn't really have a choice, does she? "By the time you're done. Promise."

gentlenekomata

the taste of home | Sakura+Emma

⤷ Anniversary 2025: axe +1

gentlenekomata

As she observed the girl searching for the materials, she still pondered about hr origins, about her past, where she surely have seen her or at least have heard of her… completely lost in her thoughts, she indistinctly heard the voice of the petite student calling the spot for using the mallet and as her goldenish eyes returned to watch her face, she surprisingly noticed that the young girl has already been back on position, ready to listen to her instructions and take some action, perhaps.

Firstly tough, she introduced herself, clearing out that she as well was from Hoshido. Sakura wasn’t that surprised to hear that, but she was definitely happy to put a name on that familiar face. “Miss Emma, that’s right!” she exclaimed, as if she knew her from many years, “I’ve heard your name among the Sky Knights, indeed. Your squadron is so brave” she complimented her, even though she wasn’t so sure she was part of the main military team; in her homeland, one of the main royal army were the Kinshi Knights, great warriors that wielded naginata or bows and could handle tons of enemies in order to defend the royal family and all the people. Sky Knights were recruits that trained to become one of them, in the future.

“I’m so grateful to have you here, you’re part of my home and family” she timidly added, while picking the mallet, ready to demonstrate everything she needed to know before starting, “And because of that, we can have this moment as a reunion, hoshidian reunion!” she giggled, lightly swinging the mallet as she was extremely happy to discover that pleasant news. “I’ll show you the gesture, so that I can entrust you this powerful cooking tool” and she proceeded with a series of slow swings, carefully showing how to not put too much power and strength in the downward swing, since the dough needed to be still malleable.

“Got it?” she exchanged a quick glance at Emma, a smirk of comprehension. “Oh the steamer! I’ll put the rice, so it’ll be steamed in less than ten minutes” she gently placed the mallet on the counter, before heading towards the steamer, “Could help me putting the rice?”

#post type: thread #thread: the taste of home #character: sakura #{{ emma both honored & embarrassed having sakura call her brave. princess sakura i am glad you didnt see how many shots i missed in jugdral

Riveted, she watches the skill with which Sakura wields the mallet. “Ohh!” she murmurs with wonder. Each swing looks so natural; if she weren’t royalty, Emma could believe Princess Sakura been born to make mochi. Then again, the life of a princess was about as distant to her as the life of anyone else here—for all she knew, being able to produce a national good so beloved as mochi was a vital part of the royal education. Or, she was just that graceful naturally.

Emma really could believe it either way.

Naturally, when the Hoshidan Princess suggests the Sky Knight in training help her with rice, the latter nods with fervor and a smile. “Yeah! Let’s get that rice cooking,” she readily agrees, head pivoting left and right searching for it. There it is—she takes a couple steps down along the counter, lifting the bowl of soaking mochigome and carefully carrying it with both hands, following Sakura’s footsteps. “And while it steams, I can practice my moves with the hammer! That way, by the time it’s done, I’ll be worthy of your trust.”

Delicately, she places the bowl of rice down on the counter in front of her so that Sakura can prepare it to be steamed. She returns to her earlier compliment, which still sticks with the girl.

“Heheh, I'd still feel weird calling myself a real Sky Knight, though. I’ve still got lots of training to do.” she says sheepishly. Even in spite of all the battles she’s faced, it feels like a shirt one size too big for her. “I still make mistakes all the time, and need people to show me how to do things right. I’m hoping that by the time I go back to Hoshido, I’ll have earned it!”

Finders Keepers, right?

May Mission - Any Skill +1

"Wait, Emma-" Her voice cuts off when her attention is drawn not to Emma, not to the flame, but to the shadows that the spirit has shed light on. To define them proves tricky. They were more humanoid than the elements they had fought previously. Looked as if they could be reasoned with, but as they drew closer, their combative stance tells Niamh all. These had to be the adversaries they needed to face. Curiously, they focus more on Niamh and Emma, rather than make chase towards the escaping flame. She concludes that they have to be providing backup for the strange wisp. They've even planned for all manner of tactics, because one of the enemies that draws closer? They're armed with arrows, ready to bring down anything that dares to take flight. Quickly, she switches to her tome, and lobs a volley of dark magics their way. The Archer fires back - she grits her teeth as she weathers the assault with her armored arm.

"They're with the flame," she warns, "I'll try to stop them, catch the flame for me..."

#character: niamh #post type: thread #thread: finders keepers right?

A shadow is cast from overhead and in reflex, Emma fumbles for her bow. She is just quick enough that when it sharpy descends through the treetops, snorting, she is already prepared with an arrow nocked and another in easy reach. Fire, nock, fire—before either of them reach the ground, the dark pegasus and its rider are both dead.

Even from here, something about the latter looks inhuman. Emma decides that she doesn't need to get closer to verify that. She's fine this safe distance away, thank you.

The threat is gone, and with it, the sense of unease in the air ought to be as well as she resumes her pursuit of the little red soul, whose brightness she has lost track of in the heat of her earlier encounter. It takes her a moment to realize why; she ought to be alone, now, but even when her own feet stop moving still the sound brush disturbed by motion remains.

To her left, she swears she sees motion. When she turns, though, nothing is there. Then, to her right, to the same ends. Through the darkness, she swears she sees a glimmer of red. And then, it finally emerges: a ghostly reanimation of old, forsaken armor, long since abandoned and rusted through. Recently reclaimed.

She readies her bow again. "Uhhm, does this still count as catching it? Ahaha..."

Finders Keepers, right?

May Mission - Any Skill +1

Had they lost? After such an ordeal, facing off avatars of the wind, lightning, water, earth, and fire...Niamh can recognize why Emma would be upset. And despite Niamh's seemingly blank expression, she could share that frustration with her. She's about to voice her thoughts regarding the matter when she, too, spots the telltale sign of another portal. Were they teasing them? It was possible. Could it be a trap? Maybe. But this does not stop Emma from leaping up and towards the new gateway, and it certainly wasn't going to stop Niamh. "Another..." she states, before action takes priority over her words. She nods to Emma, and she races towards the portal, preparing herself for what bizarre new land they'll be whisked away to. And this one? It's not a beachside escape, that's for sure. The atmosphere feels far heavier. She feels watched, feels that she blinks, that something or someone would appear before them.

"Careful..." She warns, the grip on her Killer Lance tightening. If it's anything like the last, they're definitely not alone. It's just a matter of where they'll come from.