SMILE, YOU'RE DEAD!

i'm here to scope out some grade-a cuties and sip tea! and i'm all out of tea! a soleil ( fe: fates — cqst) rp blog. golden deer student. affiliated with toa. art credit: はるさめ and icon from 仁嘉禅.

[sollegro]

SOLEIL ⟡ FIRE EMBLEM: IF ( CONQUEST ).

mercenary-for-hire. student. showman of many hats, but don't ask her to actually make good on the show part unless you want an incident. soleil's here to have a good time first and maybe learn a thing or two second, but don't mistake her casual attitude or """nasty""" habit of flirting with every pretty girl that passes her by as her lacking as a soldier. when she wants, soleil plays for keeps—in life, in love and in everything under the sun that she thinks is worth her while.

TL;DR:

taken straight from her solo ending, wherein she disappears. has spent the last few years traveling around and seeing the world and maybe has even bumped into your characters once or twice before in a serendipitous crossing of paths!

plays off of conquest, aligning her verses with her canonical father at the time of writing ( july '25 ).

who's her mom? no clue. don't ask me—

all canon supports will be treated as though they're a-supports unless otherwise asked! any hoshido characters are unknown, but not for long if you're cute—

TL;DR PT. 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO:

iiiii am slow, except for when i'm not. please bear with me if i take a little while to get back to you on replies. i don't mean to! i'm just busy more often than i'm not. nudge me if it's been a month!

i do format my replies, but this is often limited to small text. i'll try to keep in mind your preferences. just bear with me if i forget or make a misstep!

inbox is open! got something to send me? sure.

shipping: iiiii don't plan ahead and just kind of let things play out by ear! on the whole, i write soleil as having a preference for women but i want to stress that she identifies as bisexual. any ship asks or memes are generally treated as au unless development happens in threads. please also do not take soleil flirting with you as an indication of me wanting to ship. it's just in her character!

nsfw: nah, you'd be bored to tears.

content warnings: none that aren't canon-typical, but give me a heads up if you have any no-gos. we've probably already discussed it, but let me know just in case! i never mind tagging things. i just don't always know.

[sollegro]

@laslow, cry harder:

There is no responding laugh. No embarrassed cry of daaaaAAAAAAAAAAD as he drags her towards the dance floor. Laslow pauses, heart breaking already at the hitch in her voice. "Sol--" he tries, right as she hides her face away. His throat feels tight, all his previous merriment shattering like glass in the aftermath of her clear upset. Did he do something wrong? Is it Nel, the sudden way he sprung this relationship upon his daughter? He could have handled it all better, probably. Most definitely. But his heart has always run away from him, forgetting the consequences left in its wake. Not an excuse, especially when his little girl is so unhappy she's bursting into tears on a night that should bring nothing but joy. Words momentarily fail him. He pulls her into a hug, holding her close, uncaring of their surroundings. She needs him, and that will always, always come first. A promise he honors too late, but one he will uphold until his dying breath. "It's alright, Sol." He doesn't attempt to mask his sniffle. "We've always been so alike, hm?" Mindful of her hair, he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. "And don't worry about my toes. Hobbling around all night is worth spending even half a measure dancing with you."

NO, COME ON!           come on! haha, this is—a sharp inhale, through her nose though it's rapidly closing. come on! "i'm so sorry, i'm!" not supposed to cry. this is a happy thing! this is a good thing! she laughs, as the water spills over and she tries her best to catch it with her sleeves. the heels of her hands bury themselves into her tear-lines as she tries, does settle for breathing through her mouth. "no, it's!"

"i'm okay, i'm okay!" she's not?

it's so early in the evening that she wants to laugh. what the heck! she didn't want to cry! she didn't even think she was going to. she wanted this for him. she was excited! congratulatory even, and now it probably looks like she's being a petty child that had her doll taken away and it's not like that. it's not! it's not like that. she hopes he knows that it's not like that. she's not that childish.

it's ungraceful—the way she stumbles into his arms. nearly bowls him over, even.

her ears pink from the embarrassment. from the frustration—"haha, i'm sorry," apologizing again, because what else is she supposed to do? it's not that deep. why is she crying? it feels hollow, or—or maybe it's just undeserved, because? she sniffles, and her shoulders lift just a fraction when she does.

"it's so dumb. i r-r-really want you to have fun! i don't know why i'm crying! COME ON, SOLEIL."

[sollegro]

@ruinedskys wants to talk shit, but won't let me hit 🥀:

"I heard she ----- in the stairwell. Right there! The cooks even heard-" On principle, Sylvain both listens and participates in the rumors that fly through Garreg Mach. Sometimes important, other times useless, but always entertaining. ( And the rumors that fly about him? Well, he's earned every single sentence to his name! ) One of the servants claps a hand over her mouth, so red that Sylvain pinches a strand of his own fire-spun hair for immediate comparison. "Are you serious?" The whisper is more of a shout. Sylvain thinks she's going to pass out right then and there. She doesn't. "Is that. Is that something that. People do? For...for fun?" The blushing woman is escorted away, and Sylvain is left with nothing but open curiosity. He's impressed! Soleil might just be outdoing him on rumors alone."I've heard you've been busy." He says, in the tone of someone that knows something and intends to hold it over someone's head. In this case, it's easy, because she's not that tall to begin with. "Come on, how'd you do it? I've gotta know...y'know, before you get expelled." Had she done something? Doubtful, but the full weight of Sylvain's certainty would surely crack whatever story there was to tell.

RIBBON DRAWN LOOSE, COLLAR SAT OPEN.           soleil cards lacy fingers through pink as she laughs—utterly, entirely delighted—as she stumbles in and out of another dance with a girl she hoped to enchant ( and succeeded when it came to avoiding trampling! ) "nooo! don't wait up for me! you go on ahead!" she giggles, waving off her temporary partner for the evening.

"i need to go find my coat!" because it completes the outfit, of course. "go, go! oh!" said in the way that you shoo a nosy somebody, and in the way that she can't quite manage with a sylvain, who inquires.

( and also, is giant and so is hard to miss. can't forget that part. )

"i was wondering where you were!"

they'd been practice partners for the white heron cup after all! ( though, in the end: she couldn't quite work up the courage to write her name down. no use in letting the whole school know she's talentless. ) she crosses her arms over her chest, leaning forward with half-hearted suspicion. certainly a tone, isn't there? she can't imagine what he's talking about. she's certainly been flitting about person to person. hardly anything worth noticing or getting expelled over. soleil is innocent!

but, besides that—"you're going to have to be specific!" she falls back onto her heel, finger twirling into the end of her ponytail.

[sollegro]

@macnaradhaigh chose to engage with this, inexplicably:

The miscommunication makes sense--Petra had been staring at the pink-haired young woman trying to assess whether they knew each other and cupping the mint candies in her palm. The reality is that someone handed the mints to her in passing with an over-familiar pleasantry, and Brigid's daughter is now on a quiet mission to find a discreet place to throw them out. "Hello," she says, smiling politely. "I am Petra, student of the Black Eagles. You are?" Her eyes follow the line of the stranger's hand--Soleil, Petra repeats internally, filing it away for later reference--as she grasps a hyacinth, soft as a whisper and just as delicate. Soleil crowns her with a flower and Petra allows it, making another note of Fódlan's strangely intimate customs. "It is not a dream. Dreams do not have uncomfortable clothes. So I am thinking this is real." She selects a blush-colored hyacinth from her own bouquet between her thumb and index finger and traces the shell of Soleil's ear with her ring finger and pinky, tucking the flower neatly in one fluid motion. The tradition is complete. "What would be different if it were?"

SO RARE IS A FLOWER THAT KNOWS           to use its beauty against her, or—well. more probably is that she has met more out there that would much prefer to be a princess than they would want to be a prince! she can't blame them. it's much nicer to be a princess. at least in the fairy tales ( as she can hardly say she's acquainted with any real princesses as of yet! ) there's less suffering in it, you see—people come to court you. what need do you have to go through the garden?

crawl on your hands and knees, prick them with thorns when you can simply wait to have a bouquet brought to you? be charmed?

see: soleil was a princess once too.

see: soleil is a girl that is weak-kneed, slack-jawed and staring more dopily than she means to as the other girl—petra, she reminds herself. her petra, she corrects, ( too much? ) weaves a flower into her hair and it takes a moment as her eyes fall to hers and she tries to place the hue. a reddish-brown: cinnamon, or star anise? redwoods, mahoganies—no, none of these will do. there's her distracting curl of her eyelashes, the smear of color that falls against the slope of her cheek and she half-thinks! oh, it would be her greatest joy to place her hand there and trace a half-moon to its completion.

it isn't petra's witty reply that she answers. her astute! observation of the facts, no—not a comment on the color of the flower, its scent or a word on her dress like soleil imagines. very much not so. it's, "will you marry me?"

...

"—WAIT."

[sollegro]

[ OSTIA ] - An Ostian court dance where the leading partner wields a ceremonial sword as a part of the routine. This dance, meant to resemble a knight with his lady, is getting some attention from the students of Fódlan.

SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN MORE COMFORTABLE           with a sword in hand than she's ever been with a dancer's silks or a hand at a lady's back to lead. it's an embarrassing truth! she wishes more than anything in the world that she might've had more skill, but alas! none of the stories histories that her father wants to teach her take, and she's left floundering on her own at the ball whilst praying that no one will take too much notice of how she steps all over herself trying for grace.

but, luck has her back, indeed!

there are other dances and performances here that might spare her dignity this evening. like this one, she notes, as the song is queued and decorative swords are distributed to those that are willing to participate. it is more a step-and-show than it is a true dance to any rhythm, and that—that soleil thinks she can do. she meets another fair lady opposite her: silk gloves, a skirt that blossoms more vibrantly than any flower seen in nature and a stitchwork mouth that gives her pause.

she's like a doll, soleil thinks.

a doll that can wield her weapon with ease, and soleil half-wonders and half-fantasizes what she must look like in combat—knowing that she does not think she'd want to be in front of her then, heart bare and open to her as she seeks to stop it.

"well, we can't both have a sword," soleil teases.

good thing that they are on a different battlefield now, hm?

[sollegro]

[ GOSSIP ] - For those who don't want to be the center of attention, sitting on the sidelines and observing those who do is a time-honored tradition. Exchanging thoughts with another while doing so is a rite of passage for a student—it is a slightly worse look for the staff to take part.

(gossip except it's JAKOB gossiping about laslow to laslow's daughter do you see my vision)

SHE HATES TO ADMIT IT!           she really does, because like. soleil tries very hard to not say anything that she wouldn't be proud of. she's been a part of those circles before and gotten her name tangled up in all manner of drama! ( nevermind that it's often because she's flirted with one too many village girls, and word got back to and from each other. ) but, she can't deny that it is a difficult pill to swallow in seeing her father with lady nel on his arm.

she'd been her lady love ( lady? affection? love might've been too strong ) first, but woe!

woe!

this is what happens when she leaves!

the heart goes with it, and all that—but no resentment lives in her all the same, though you wouldn't think it from the stern way that she shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest and points out the unfortunate seam puckering out of the corner of her father's dress shirt from where a gem was meant to be. she can't deny it. jakob's right! "it's so sad! if he'd have asked me, i could've found a much nicer outfit," not a lie, it is technically true, "but they're matching, and it is pretty cute."

"i see, um."

she looks him up. looks him down. frowns. the usual, is it? "did ... lady corrin ask you to ... stay in uniform? or, was that your choice?" muttering: "i match more with her tonight. maybe that's why we've danced twice—"

[sollegro]

[ YLISSE ] - The successor of the Archanean minuet, this waltz suits modern Ylissean tastes with easy-to-learn steps, a faster pace, and a closeness to your partner that continues to scandalize the older generations in Ylisse.

"Well, don't you look dashing, my love!" Laslow exclaims, adjusting the fall of her ponytail along her shoulder. "Let me know if I have to give anyone the overprotective dad speech, eh?"

Laughing, he takes her hand. "But for now....hope you saved a spot on your dance card!"

HER HANDS FOLD OVER HER HEART,           eyes already wet with tears as she regards her father—her hands drawn into his as she takes him in. black drapes itself on his shoulders like the night, stars tracing galaxies across him like the sky itself. his clothes are a far-cry from the fading pastels that she'd grown used to, the dancing silks that he hides from prying eyes and the uniform that made him a soldier before he was her father. "shouldn't i be saying that to you, dad? you're—you're looking as handsome as ever! a-and lady nel is lucky to have you!"

she smiles.

tries.

DON'T.

tries, hard to, but it's a difficult thing to keep your heart from breaking—it's been a long time, hasn't it? seeing her old man this happy and knowing all the while that it wasn't with her mother, but with someone else that she doesn't really know but wants to and doesn't know how. it's not his fault. she can barely remember her mother, but there's something about it, isn't there? that she can't remember, but she knows he can and it's. it's the thought that he should be sad because she thinks she should be, would be, and isn't—she's not here with either of them.

oh, it's silly! silly, silly, stupid!

soleil chokes, breathes and turns her face away to blink away the tears because, "wheeew, i promised myself i-i wouldn't cry! i, i really did! i just—" she laughs. smile, soleil! smile, it's what he would want from you! she retrieves her hands. fans her eyes, tries and corrects herself again ( because she's happy, not sad ):

"i'll try to spare your toes, so lady nel can dance with you, okay?"

[sollegro]

[ REQUEST ] - At the top of every hour, the band allows for any guest to come up and make specific requests, and for the extra bold, to sing and perform right along with them as your backup! Take the stage and belt your heart out or, for the more devious, pressure a friend to become the star of everyone’s next dance!

SHE ISN'T MUCH OF A PERFORMER.           she can't sing ( according to most people with ears ) and she can't dance ( according to most people with eyes ), but for all her frustrations with her lack of rhythm? let it not be said that soleil lacks either ambition! she must admit—there's a touch of apprehension that coats her words, a contradictory stutter of "o-oh, lady alear—i really shouldn't," but that's all faded into the background now and the swells of the music from the band.

she's here now, accompanied by a beautiful woman, who comes accompanied by her great-uncle ( in a manner of speaking ).

( it's very complicated. )

( she chooses to still not explain or think about this very much. )

but, for the confidence she lacks in her dancing, she's inclined to believe her voice has improved somewhat—she makes a gesture to the orchestra, cues them up and they look at her equal parts baffled and confused as she takes lady alear's hand and starts the beginning of a song she's only just learned is one of courtship in hoshido. the words are clumsy, but they come out as practiced as anything else.

erm.

ignore the warbling.

[sollegro]

[ SWEET BUN TRIO ] - Three delicious, bite-sized buns from Faerghus. The first bun is filled with sweet cream and topped with icing and a candied cherry. The second is a sweet roll filled with almonds, pecans, and dried cranberries and glazed with honey. The third is a bun sliced in half, filled with almond paste and whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar on top.

THERE'S A WAY TO EAT THIS WITHOUT LOOKING STUPID.           they're small! designed to be the perfect little finger-dessert, easy to pinch between her fingers but oh. how do you fit it in your mouth without spilling the filling everywhere? how do you do it without getting cream on the sides and—really, the sweet bun trio is a godsend when she's trying to use it to her advantage; see?

they're an easy excuse to go ' oh, haha, look; you've got a bit of cream on your cheek! no, not there. let me get that! '

then, you can touch their cheek, swipe a thumb at the powdered sugar and—well, hehe. you know! but, in this case! the goods have been brought to her, and she suspects mitama must've only done so to dissuade her from performing such antics with her. but, just as soleil believes there is a way to eat this without embarrassing herself, there too is a way to manage a little mischief.

not that.

she can stop herself from looking stupid, because soleil hears something in her jaw pop when she shoves the first bun in, lets the syrup from the candied cherry coat her lips and leans in quick—a glossy, sugary kiss to the cheek before soleil runs away gleefully cackling. "thanks for the treat, mitama!"

( she doesn't make it more than a foot away before she starts choking. )

[sollegro]

[ CHOCOLATE ] - Stefanelli's has partnered with the monastery to make the most of the supplies left in excess of their workshops earlier in the year by offering packages of sweet chocolates for attendees. The offerings appear generous... that is, until you open your box to find it only half full.

A BOX OF CHOCOLATE? FOR HER?           why! goodness, soleil is flattered, really! how often was it that someone as beautiful as her would bring her a gift? already, she's thinking of the best things to say. what should she say? ' you're sweeter than any chocolate they could make! ' or ' we should be like melted chocolate, delicious and messy! ' but that all seems like things that she should keep inside of her head and not actually let them come out of her mouth.

all this, and that is to say that the minute she opens the box that her face sours.

she looks up.

stares the woman in the eye, and shuts the box before offering her hand to her: "come with me, my lady! and we'll right this wrong here and now!" how dare the good people—no, the bad people of stefanelli's short a woman of her fair share! that's injustice at its finest! it's worse than—than! well, she can't really think of a comparison that doesn't make something else sound more trivial, but the point is! "do you have a sword on you by the way? it's not much of a duel for your honor without one."

[sollegro]

[ MINT CANDY ] - For when your breath isn’t as fresh as newly-fallen snow. ((my brain is weeping out my ears this week and i can't remember if i sent this to you already))

HOW FORWARD!           she must admit! it's been such a long time since someone's made advances towards her. soleil could count it on her fingers! ( not that she, of course, holds it against anyone—how often does she provide an opportunity to others to speak when she has her flirtations pre-written? ) what kind of face is she making? should she look flattered? arrogant? demure? deserving?

oh, she just doesn't know!

and from a woman she's never seen! is this what soleil looks like?

soleil half-steps away, a turn as her cheeks flush as pink as her hair and her gloved hands come to rest on her face as if to obscure her embarrassment.

"my lady!" as it is as appropriate an address as she thinks any would be in this situation ( and at least partially because she doesn't know this girl's title, and there are more than two dozen princesses and princes, nobility and otherwise in this room that she'll never be able to place ), "as tempting as your lips might be, i think they'd be all the more if i at least knew your name!" cue the daintiest push away of her hand offering a mint, a flutter of the eyelashes before soleil at last plucks a hyacinth bloom from her bouquet—the faintest lavender, a pale imitation of her hair. her eyes!

"can i offer you this flower in exchange? and," she doesn't hesitate. reaches out, tucks the flower behind the girl's ear, and goes on to fall in love for the first time tonight, "to have the pleasure of knowing you? i'm soleil, and i'm not sure this isn't a dream."

[sollegro]

IT IS SOMEHOW TRAGIC, ISN'T IT?           that in all her preparations for this day that none should heed her invitation, but in the end: she supposes her friends were correct in saying that casting a wide net does not mean she will catch a fish. ( but, really? not a single one? kill her. ) even so—she glances in the direction of the lovely and lovelier, each arrival a new bloom in her eye even as she cradles a bouquet of hyacinths in the crook of her arm—there are too many faces and people to court tonight that soleil can't imagine moping the whole night through.

well.

maybe she has room for a little whining. "i'm cute ... i'm adorable! but nooo, no one wants to go to the stupid ball with soleil—"

( WEEK ONE ) — BLOOM TRACKER!

ROSE: ORCHID: LILY: HYACINTH: TULIP:

outfit inspirations below the break! i cannot draw!

BUT MAGGIE DOES DRAW, LOOK AT MY POOKIE:

[verseandrhyme]

sweet enough to rot your teeth

Epidemic | Gauntlet +1

[verseandrhyme]

"Why in the world would we be using the same spoon?" She asks flatly. In fact, to avoid such exact circumstances, Mitama uses the spatula with which she had just struck Soleil to begin mixing the chocolate in the bowl. She thinks that it is melting well. It is not smoking and does not smell burnt, at least.

She does brighten as Soleil finally gives her a proper answer. "I am fine with that. Jam in chocolate sounds delicious." They will need a bit more time to prepare their second ingredient, but she is certain they can do it. While Soleil inspects the room, Mitama reaches down to get another pot to add to the stove and turns the heat on for that one as well.

"If you do not mind fetching the molds, I will fetch fruit. Please do try and avoid anything star shaped." She can tolerate the incessant attempts at flattery, but the addition of celestial imagery to that might sour her mood entirely. "Try not to take too long. I do not want anything to burn." She taps the spatula against the side of the pot to shake the chocolate free before going off on her quest.

Thankfully, they need not go far to find it, almost as though those running the seminar had predicted more adventurous possibilities among their students. Mitama's eyes scan over the choices briefly before taking a small basket of raspberries back to their table.

[sollegro]

THE EXPLANATION WOULD ONLY BE WASTED.           why wouldn't they? she wants to say. was mitama so ill-content with the thought of her arms around her? carefully melting chocolate until it was the right consistency? woe! but, she does want to avoid a mitama that scowls at her. it hurt enough the first time, seeing the way she looked at that wedding. it eases the ache in her heart when she sees her—well.

not smile, but look less annoyed with her.

"has all the time you've spent here given you the ability to read minds?"

or is it only that soleil is too predictable? she grins, chuckling all the while before making her tactful retreat to the shelves. her eyes follow one pair after another, her impish smile easing into something more relaxed as she watches her classmates enjoy themselves. she'd thought about it then in that place so far away from this world. the classes then weren't ones of warfare, and she thought to walk for hours and hours and would find herself watching the ocean before she had to go ' home. '

someone bumps into her.

she nearly sends the shelf clattering in her surprise, but soleil catches it quickly enough and retrieves her quarry—some very un-star-shaped stencils and molds instead, settling for shells before scurrying back to their table. there'd been a little jar of argent that she found, and the glass clatters against the table with little ceremony.

her eyes move to the raspberries. "oops, forgot—wait, i can grab something else that suits those better!" errr, flowers? a heart?

[sollegro]

UNMIRACLE.

SOCIAL ¦ BALL ROYALE — ACT 1. EVEN THE DIVINE ARE TOO HUMAN.

[fellsparks]

At first, Nel can't stop the brow that raises upon hearing Soleil addressed as 'my love'-- a hint of confusion lingers, but there's something about the way Laslow says it that has her pause. She's no expert on the manners of human courtship, but she is an observant woman. For now, however, she chooses to simply tuck the interaction into the back of her mind as her student continues. Which her statements do draw a hint of a chuckle from her. It almost sounds like a soft breath rather than a laugh, a fond shake of her head the only thing that breaks her otherwise impassive demeanor. Soleil is correct that pet-names aren't exactly something she enjoys-- but on the other hand, it's something she hasn't experienced much of. Weren't those nicknames significant? Nel's heart always did skip a beat when 'darling' so effortlessly rolled off of Laslow's tongue, but... inexperience begets a hint of nerves. She doesn't think it's so bad, though. Crimson eyes flicker across the distance between herself and the other professor, gaze softening in an instant. "There is no need to worry, Soleil. I appreciate your willingness to... defend my honor." A sentiment that tickles her more than it should-- a little one standing before a dragon as a shield-- but she waves a hand to dismiss the concerns. "I do not consider it to be a slight from Professor Laslow. In fact, I believe I quite enjoy it. You are correct, however- under normal circumstances, I do not care for them." Was that too much? Nel clears her throat and averts her gaze, glancing over at Soleil instead. It's easier to focus on the student than the man across from her for the time being, the flowers in front of her drawing her attention; a beautiful arrangement, her fingers gently plucking one of the blooms from the bouquet. Clearly, the girl doesn't realize she's very much the same type as Laslow. Somehow, that causes her to be gentler-- more careful, more... flexible; being genuine comes to the two of them easily, she's come to find. A rare trait in the world. "Soleil. Rest assured. Professor Laslow and I are well acquainted. There is no need to fret. I had expected to find him after departing, actually, but it seems the initiative has been taken from me." A pleasant surprise, she notes. "I appreciate your gift, truly. Flowers are a favorite of mine. I will ensure that these are kept in a safe place. If you'll excuse me, however... I have-- plans." @sollegro @laslow

[laslow]

While not unusual for Soleil to call him out on his....behaviors, there's something more urgent in her expression this time. Like he's stuck his foot in his mouth and she's desperately trying to smooth things over. Laslow tilts his head, grin flickering in confusion.

But before he can interject, Nel replies, amusement clear in her voice, and just like that, all his worries dissipate. Warmth spreads in his chest; he resists the urge to preen at the acknowledgment he's an exception to Nel's rule.

"See? All's well." He can't quite keep the trace of triumph out of his voice.

Clearing his throat, he prepares to extend his little treat, aborting the action when his lovely daughter beats him to the punch. Laslow blinks. The careful flick of the wrist, the way she holds the bouquet just so there's a chance the recipient might brush their fingers together....

Surely Soleil isn't...?

No. No, she's just being polite! He always says flowers make the perfect gift! Doesn't even need to be for a special occasion; merely making someone smile is reason enough!

He tunes back into the conversation, chuckling softly at well acquainted, and extends his little treats. A flush dusts his cheeks. "Ahem. For you, Nel! The reason for my initiative," Laslow winks. "They've gone a bit cold, but they were baked this morning."

Free hand rises to absently play with his earring. He's torn--every second spent at his little girl's side is precious, a gift he refuses to ignore. Yet he'd also been looking forward to enjoying Nel's company this evening. Glancing between the two, Laslow sighs.

"Sol, love, are you alright if Nel and I take our leave? I, uh, that is, we--" Naga above, how does one go about a conversation as awkward as this? Shifting his weight, he tries again. "We're going to dinner tonight! I meant my earlier promise, though--you and I will do something special soon! I've missed you."

He drops his hand, reaching over to brush a wayward strand of hair off Soleil's cheek. "Seems I have a lot to catch you up on!"

Grinning, he faces Nel fully. "Shall we, my sweet?"

[sollegro]

CONTRARY TO POPULAR OPINION, SHE ISN'T SLOW.           intentionally oblivious? of course, no fool would go around acting the way that she did without knowing how to only listen to the good things that people had to say to her. but, slow? stupid? soleil was no master tactician and she could admit to some foolishness when she is met with a fair beauty here and there, but she could put two and two together.

so, let's assess the facts, shall we? her father, her beautiful and wonderfully affectionate father, calls lady nel—darling.

one.

she agrees, even expresses that it's true. normally, she doesn't care for nicknames, but she will accept them graciously from him.

she likes them even.

but, her father doesn't do things in half-parts. he doesn't call someone something like that without meaning it. maybe before her mother, but not now when he knows the weight of a word. ( it's one of his many virtues! ) so, he calls her darling, brings her pastries from town and what is more is that lady nel says that the two are acquainted.

two.

acquainted, but she hasn't any reason to spend time with him, did she?

she taught lances, polearms, and for a different house than his altogether, while her dad taught swordplay for the lions. they would've come across each other eventually, she was sure. meetings, or maybe sheer happenstance, but to even intend to seek him out after she finishes class because the two have dinner plans—

three.

THE TWO HAVE DINNER PLANS—

"hah! haha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" soleil moves, perhaps faster than she's ever moved in her life to hook an arm around her father's shoulders to jerk him off to the side before there can be a word of protest from either of them. "would you excuse me for a second!" then, in a harsh whisper: "dad, what do you think you're doing?"

[sollegro]

TWENTY-FOUR.

INFAMOUS ¦ LANCE +1 — ACT 1. EVERY SECOND COUNTS.

[sollegro]

DAY 24, FIVE HOURS UNTIL THE FINAL EXECUTION

AFFECTION IS A HARD-WON THING.           and just this once, soleil does not think of something as private as the feelings shared between two lovers. no—what she thinks of, is the abiding contract of noblesse oblige and the responsibilities of having a people to protect. she's a commoner, and one that has been thrown into danger on more occasions than not. that's a mercenary's job, right? don't ask too many questions and keep your head down. that's how you stay out of trouble.

there's been—mm.

not an insignificant number of times that a noble's asked her to throw her life away for them, because they think she's worth less than theirs because by their birthright, do they own a land or belong to a house. soleil never resented her lot. even if siegbert doesn't say that he wants her to be, there is a part of her that still believes that she's going to be a retainer, and the only difference between that and what she is now is that she chose it. she'd jump onto a sword for any of her friends.

she doesn't hate every noble.

she can't make herself hate this little girl, whose kneeled down on the ground in front of her with her head against alabaster to make for a clean execution. little girl, she says—she keeps calling her a little girl, but she's in her twenties. barely older than her and a wisp of a thing. probably the illegitimate daughter of her noble house, meant either to be married off or to be thrown away. she's being thrown away now.

her hands don't shake. but, soleil—"i can't do it." her nerve does.

@tomatotactician, well, this got dark real fast.

[ruinedskys]

Gᴀᴍᴇs Pᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ Pʟᴀʏ

𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽: 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌 | 𝗌𝗒𝗅𝗏𝖺𝗂𝗇/𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗂𝗅 | 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾

[ruinedskys]

Does he need dance lessons? 

…it’s possible. 

He’s had lessons as far back as he can remember. Nevermind that as the next Margrave Gautier (he rolls his eyes, and one of the girls twirling around falters her steps), his future looks more like border battles and negotiations for peace but sure, it’ll be a personal embarrassment to his noble lineage if he can’t hold his own during a school dance. 

Well, whatever. The real fun is ahead of him, because now that the White Heron Cup date approaches, there are all kinds of people spread out in front of him. As usual, there are clear disparities that separate the nobles from commoners- and it isn’t just that they naturally pair off in those groups. 

Those of higher status are more daring with their steps- able to maneuver into a few decent twists and turns. The commoners… he finds himself smiling. It’s cute, if he’s honest- how the majority struggle to find where to put their hands, looking an awful lot like they’re facing down some kind of real-time war game. 

It makes his choices easy. 

“Mind if I join you guys?” His voice is light, arms reaching up to cross behind his head. “You know, here I was wishing I paid a little closer attention to my dance lessons.” There are a few people that back away, that eye him with equal measure of curiosity and interest. He turns to the girl that hasn’t moved, eyeing pretty pink hair as one hand stretches out toward her. “But hey, if it means I can dance with someone as cute as you, I might just be the luckiest guy in the room after all.”

She is pretty, and the wink he gives her is practiced. Perfected. “I’m Sylvain, by the way. What do you say? Keep me company."

@sollegro

[sollegro]

ONE WOULD IMAGINE THAT A LIFETIME           of being led by the hand and misguided ( but, so! well-intentioned! ) instructors would've meant soleil could carry on a heritage of rhythm and song. but, for all her want and for all that her family is known for—they're commoners, and always have been though the nohrian nobility hardly treat her that way—talent! it seems, can't be passed by blood as are her looks. and still, it does not preclude her from at least this year's competition an honest effort.

her attempts at flattering and proving herself worthy of company only succeeded in embarrassing the targets of her affection.

and so! she thinks desperately, foolhardily, faithfully—that maybe she can earn their affection and attention this time by proof.

she could dance.

soleil would learn to dance.

"oh, wait! no—i'm so sorry! i didn't mean!" hand curls at her mouth, teeth clenched as she watches another of her fair partners limping away for all of her ambition. dang it! she always had two left feet, but she swears that she'd been paying attention this time! hadn't even let her mind wander for a second to what she'd wear or what they'd wear or whose name should go first in the introductions. "i'm sorry!" she calls out again, but they don't even stop to wave goodbye and she wonders who could blame them.

"darn it!" she stomps again, tile smothering beneath her boot.

she hasn't even the chance to ask before those next in line scurry away, but so comes the timely arrival of one, obliging young man, who she must admit is quite easy on the eyes. ( and whose words feel awfully familiar! ) her eyes dart down to his boots and soleil privately mumbles that she hopes they're sturdy. "i'm soleil," she greets in turn, placing her hand into his as delicately as she remembers seeing the other girls do before. demure and shy, that's the way that she needs to act. "you think i'm cute?"

giggling, she adds: "you're so handsome that you've made me forget what i was going to say." said in a tone that implies ' come now, you have to try a little harder than that. '

[occult-octoling]

lets dance with papa