sublimity

s u b l i m i t a t i s --closed clair rp blog-- --affiliated with ferp-- --see 'read first'--

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i’ll be my own knight in shining armour

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..fin

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live a little + mitama

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haikusandstareyes‌:

Staunch benevolence and good-will Mitama’s laugh was a titter as she felt her cheeks darken once more, thankful for the night sky that helped hide their presence. Surely such a generous description was better to suited to one besides her? “You seemed quite content, in my opinion, occupying yourself by holding on to more physical things.”

Calling to the creature. Mitama supposed that could work. She’s certainly coaxed her own birds out when they remained stubborn before. But that was different. They were her birds, this was decidedly not, and the bird would be justified in at best ignoring her and at worst…Mitama swallowed anxiously.

Slowly, she stepped a tag closer to the creature and kneeled down. Softly, she let out a short whistle. The bird’s head peeked out enough that it’s eye was looking her way. Though nervous, Mitama did her best to appear calm as she goaded it out.

Eventually, with enough honeyed words, Mitama managed to urge the bird out of its nest. It stood before them now, cooing softly as Mitama gently pet its neck. She glanced over at Clair. “You likely have far more experience dressing it than I would.”

There was no bit. The harnesses were oddly proportioned, and the fastenings delicate, but looking between the creature and the leather in her hands, Clair supposed it made some measure of sense. (And with Mitama now looking at her with those eyes of hers, hopefully enough to piece everything together--) “Ah. Certainly.” The world had better not call her out on her bluff.

Its neck was so. Spindly. It seemed a marvel to Clair, as she tied the brightly coloured cords around its neck and attached it to the harness that she fastened across the creature’s chest, that it would support any weight at all. Even the mount’s chest had seemed like an impossible mound of feathers. Had there been anything under it all? Would it simply float away as a cloud? If she hadn’t witnessed some carrying their riders on the horizon earlier, she might have given into her doubts.

Reins. A Saddle. That was all that was needed to ride one of these, right? Clair gave Mitama a tentative look, then swung herself carefully onto the saddle. It took everything not to jump right off again when the bird gave a low trill at her weight. When it settled again Clair gave a sigh of relief, then extended a hand to her once more. “Come on, now. Lest we tempt fate and our fortunes run dry.”

How hard could it be?

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midnight + gray

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mercantilemercenary: 

Gray slipped out a side door of the ballroom and out into the wide palace courtyard. He’d had enough revelry for the evening and welcomed the sudden blanket of quiet that rested over the stones, broken only by the faint trickle of water coming from the fountain. 

Taking a moment to stretch out the tension he carried between his shoulderblades (a result of the unholy mixture of politics and outright fawning going on inside), Gray glanced around. He’d seen someone else duck out the door and he had been certain… ah, there she was. Clair sat by the fountain, hair gleaming in the moonlight.

Mila grant me strength to not trip over my own tongue, thought Gray, then kicked himself for not remembering. Again. It hurt to remember that Mila couldn’t do anything anymore. 

The smile he shot Clair as he approached was more wan than he intended.

“Wasn’t intentional,” he said. He desperately wanted to sit next to her, but for once in his life considered maybe he should wait for the seat to be offered. “Came out here to get away from the crowd inside. A little to high-and-mighty for me.”

She turned her head, the ends of her hair brushing against her bare shoulders as she peered over. Clair had half expected him to be among the prone party-goers in the hall, having taken too much from the drinks table. Probably not alone. If that had been the case, she suspected Tobin would have been on the floor with him, the mutual goading having proven their literal down-fall after all.

“Is that so? It would be wise then to be acclimated then; they will flock around the boy Alm in the days to come.” If they haven’t already. Clair sighed. A different age; same people though. Not even the slaying of gods would turn the hearts of their people overnight. The Mila fountain might even stands for years--decades--to come. “That is--if you intend on staying at the castle. But I suppose you have family awaiting your triumphant return back at the village.”

She pursed her lips. A thought. “And Ram. Their celebrations are not like this, I gather?”

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throw back + saber

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backswordforhire‌:

Saber snorted. Cute. At least the sudden shift made it easier to talk and not feel like the air was trying to suffocate him with how it rushed its way into his lungs.

“Yeah, that’d be Jesse…” Saber sighed. Going through with that land of mercenaries, was he? Saber would have to head down and check in on him when he had the chance. Make sure that idiot wasn’t getting himself in over his head without even noticing. “Got it in his head he could lead a nation of mercs. Can’t believe he talked the lass into letting him do it.” If he even talked to her.

Who the hell would want to live in a desert anyways?

“Anyways, you don’t gotta worry lass. Never said I was Zofian. So tensions are already a little better than you expected.” Seemed strange. Sending people so young off to deal with the mess made by the people before. Supposed after everything that happened, they were the only ones left to do it.

“I can see why.” The thought of that Est as a messenger was a laugh. “And I’m thankful you were around. You can just let me down, lass, I’ll be plenty fine on my own.”

‘Not Zofian.’

The statement made her turn her head, looking at him with a poorly hidden note of surprise. It begged the question then: ‘How did you meet Celica?’ The Temple of Duma was not the first place she had spotted the man; Clair was certain of that now. And if it weren’t there, then it had to be those brief moments of quiet in Castle Zofia, and that... That meant they had met on Zofia soil.

What the hell was a Rigelian doing in Zofia during the war? 

(She supposed he could have come over the seas but... Nah, probably not. So few made the trip, and that was with the benefit of flight.)

“Really? Perhaps you should have explained that to the fine gentlemen back there; they do not appear to have gotten that message.” With that, Aurelius slowed to a gentle glide, then came to a landing in a patch of tall grass. Great wings folded back against his sides, and Clair breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I hope nothing of value was left there; I doubt they would be too keen on returning such affects.”

[rigelsprince]

Myths [Berkut & Clair]

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rigelsprince: 

“Hold your tongue!” The careful restraint that had kept him calm before this Zofian could not hold his indignation that she would speak so crassly of Rinea, and he started for her. His body moved on instinct and emotion, but he managed to stop himself just outside of the reach of her lance.

“How dare you speak as if you know anything about her ― as if you know anything about us,” he spat. “We were to be together in death.”

Perhaps that had been selfish; perhaps she had been nothing more than a pretty token, to be buried alongside him like the rest of his precious belongings, as was common with kings of old. That doubt only added fuel to his fury. To his denial.

“But Alm took that from me as well.” Jaw set, he forced the words through his teeth. “His foolish ‘mercy’ caused Rinea’s sacrifice to be in vain.”

A sacrifice that the flickering candlelight, the despair, the temptation of power had distorted into an offering Rinea had enacted herself, for him. And yet the truth of it, that he had taken something which was not his to take, was like a splinter of guilt, hidden below the surface but painful all the same.

“I would bring her back, even if I must exchange my life for hers.”

Surely that statement was enough to prove his devotion. He could not stand anyone to doubt him, because doubt was infectious.

“As if I know anything,” she laughed in disbelief, grip tightening on her lance until her knuckles were as white as the steel itself. Every muscle in her arm was tense, locked with the growing urge to do something rash and the counteracting self-restraint that prevented the impulse. “And you do? As if you care for what anyone else wanted except yourself?”

“Let me guess then. She gave herself to your fell god?” Aurelius moved slowly, plodding a tight circle around the young man. For time being, Clair’s lance remained pointed upward, but there was no telling how long that would last with the growing fury in her voice. “She decided to sacrifice her soul and let it be twisted to your lost cause?”

“It was never about her,” she spat, blue eyes glaring down at him with no trace of intimidation. Her voice grew louder. She would not back down. She was tired of it; of women cast aside for the ambitions of houses and of men. She was tired of delusional excuses being made to justify it all. A martyr, they would call her after they strip her of everything she had. Pressed her into a mould until nothing was left to be recognised. “Even now, it is not about her. You come to this land, desperate, seeking your own comfort. That is the only reason men like you exert this much effort for anything.”

'You never loved her.’

[aimless--archer]

Moving Day [Python & Clair]

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aimless--archer: 

For several minutes, Python follows in stony silence, idly counting the corridors and chambers they pass.  He knows damn well that her confident walk is a farce, but all that will happen if he calls her out is he’ll either be put into the lead himself or abandoned, and neither of those are any better options.  At least with her choosing their path, he thinks ruefully, if they never find their way out and end up as rotting skeleton decorations, he can call it her fault.

Her sudden stop breaks his train of gloomy thoughts, and he looks past her curious expression to see a chest, as old and dilapidated looking as the rest of this place, sitting alone and unadorned at the end of the hall.  It seems innocuous enough, but Python is far too jaded to expect some gift to just be lying out in the open without a catch, and he scans every inch of the corridor for signs of a trap.  The fact that he can’t discern one from this distance doesn’t mean much.

It’s obvious that she’s expecting him to be the one to check it out, and he rolls his eyes.  “Is this some noble thing?  Send in the commoner to make sure everything’s safe, like the guy who tastes the king’s food?”  Despite his barb, he’s already strolling into the hall, looking deceptively casual despite his apprehension.  He throws her a little wave over his shoulder.  “Fine, but if a boulder falls on my head or somethin’ like that, you get to tell Fors what happened to me.”

He makes it down the dead-end hallway with no incident, and crouches in front of the chest, cringing a bit at the rusty creak that echoes in the silence when he lifts the lid.  He’s not quite sure what he expects to find inside- more stale bread, most likely, or maybe money (which he wouldn’t say no to)- but the actual contents are a surprise.

It’s a bow.

Damn, it’s a pretty nice bow.

He picks it up, running his hand along the length of it to feel the curve of the wood and noticing the smooth metal accents on the hand grip in place of the rapidly disintegrating leather wrapping on his own.  Nothing too fancy, but new and sturdier than his own, and when he pulls experimentally on the string, he finds a suitably heavy draw.  And nothing has fallen on him yet, so fuck it- jaded he may be, but he also has no desire to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Sorry, Princess,” he calls with a grin, holding the bow up for her to see.  “I think this one’s mine.”

Before she can respond, he catches the echo of a noise from somewhere down the endless hallways.  His fingers tighten around the new bowstring.

Some timing.

He could joke, but she half-expected to see spikes rising out of the ground, or flames jetting out of the walls. Whoever had built the catacombs would have very well wanted to keep out intruders and grave-robbers... Or was maybe just an architect with a cruel sense of humour. But as it were, neither of those turned out to be true, and Python’s valiant efforts turned out... rather anticlimactic.

Clair watched as he opened the chest--and cringed as the rusted hinge gave a squeal and probably their location to every undead in the vicinity--and triumphantly hoisted his prize up high. The archer seemed enthusiastic (understandably) but she couldn’t help hoping that it would be something useful. The Deliverance could use with more rations. Water. Even that crusty, stale tack-bread would have been useful. But she supposed anything was better than--

“Come. Quickly.” Her heart leapt to her throat, pounding anxiously as she thought about how many revenants she had passed by before she ran into him. All of them would be converging. They couldn’t possibly take all of them at once, not even if they held a choke point. “Hurry!”

It didn’t take long to run into the first of them; Clair turned a corner, lance first, and good thing she did. The steel blade of her lance caught the blunted sword with a metallic clang that must have attracted even more of them. The stench of the undead had already started to creep into the hall. The knight deflected the blow, countering as she had been drilled so often before. Steel cut through already-decaying flesh easily. But there were more footsteps down the corridor.

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live a little + mitama

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haikusandstareyes:

Mitama huffed, though lacked the usual intense vigor that she would’ve displayed. “And what makes you so certain that I would forgive you?” Surely they lacked in the time needed to be able to understand the other’s intentions.

Still, she was easily shifted away from the subject of ire as Lady Clair took her hand and guided her along. With Clair’s attention elsewhere, Mitama watched their hands. It was a small gesture. And yet so forward. She found it difficult to respond to it. Her cheeks felt warm.

Forcibly clearing her throat, Mitama nodded her head in response. The smell of the roosting did not bother her. She had grown used to it from her own birds at home. Though she had never dealt with creatures of such size before. Being so close to them now, she moved with some trepidation next to Clair.

“An older one is more likely to be patience with our attempts, yes.” Carefully, she stepped around the branches on the floor. She guided Clair along behind her. “I believe there should be one…ah, here.”

An older bird sat further into the roosting ground, paying little mind to the two of them as it preened. Mitama shifted awkwardly. “I am…unsure how to go about this.”

“I do not--but do allow me the pleasure of holding onto this picture of the staunch benevolence and good-will of my new found companion, hmm?” But there had been mirth in her voice and just as much warmth in her hands. Perhaps the words meant little in comparison.

She toed feathers from the floor, long white and gold plumes that would have fetched a fortune back home. And it was with that thought in mind that she carefully let them all be. Zofia didn’t need yet more objects to covet. The loose feathers were mixed with nesting material as they approached a large bird, its long neck curved gently towards its chest where the head had been tucked under one wing.

Another loose feather fell to the roost floor. Clair vaguely remembered watching brightly coloured song-birds do the same in the parlour cage when she was much younger... though they had been the size of her fist, and this creature was most certainly not. “Could you... call to it?” Surely if she whistled, Aurelius would find her even here.

Against one wall, various tack had been hanged on wooden pegs slotted into planks. Some looked familiar. Most didn’t. Clair figured they would probably get some of that onto the great bird...

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mxgemercenary: 

“If that’s what you’d like to do, certainly.”

With a smile, she splayed her hands out on her leg between them. She and Clair had not been close in their world - they’d fought one battle together, and barely spoke in the months after. Sonya’s visits to the castle were rare, and she and Clair’s visits aligning was rarer. But she wasn’t blind. Sonya could recognize a strong woman when she met one, and there was no one she respected more than a woman who stood her own.

Clay refused to be in her brother’s shadow. She was a noblewoman and a knight in her own right. And, though childish it could seem, she was strong without losing her sense of wonder. Looking at Clair, one would almost call her innocent, regardless of all the blood shed by her hand.

“You’re quite good at this, you know.”

“Truly?”

The small brush felt ridiculous in her hands, but her strokes remained as steady as they had ever been. Colour filled in an even layer, the edges melting together and smoothing over in the lamp light. Clair couldn’t remember the last time she had done this with someone else. Not even Lady Mathilda--dear gods, no, she had been so busy trying to prove herself that she had never thought to before the war struck Zofia with force.

And by then it was too late.

“I do not claim to know how mages train--but the rigours of knighthood made it difficult to do this for myself.” Little niceties were replaced with callouses and faint, faded scars. As such training was meant to. She touched up a spot of polish, filling in a missed corner. Done. Neat, crisp, immaculate. “But I suppose it made it that much dearer to hold onto these things. A lady does wish go the lengths to look as wonderful as she feels at times.”

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throw back + saber

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backswordforhire: 

Her hair flew back and hit his face as they flew through the sky. He grimaced, but it was far better than being back in the bar and dealing with that mess. He leaned back enough that the longest strands just barely grazed him and hoped that they wouldn’t be up in the sky for too long.

Saber grunted. Right, that was the kid’s name. “Yeah, the lass hired me.” Not that she needed to, in the long run. She seemed to have a knack for convincing people to join her side as they went along. Still, he was glad she had recruited him. He didn’t like the thought of what might’ve happened if he’d not been around, gods aside.

He snorted and shook his head. The wind bit. “Hardly anything I want to deal with. Some idiots don’t know how to let sleeping dogs lie.” But that was what had started this whole cycle in the first place, wasn’t it? “Doesn’t matter. Soon as I’m far away enough, the mess’ll be out of your hair.”

Though the thought of her being here was strange. As far as he could tell, she was distinctly Zofian, and united or not, it wasn’t exactly the place for her to go stomping around alone. “And what brings you this far north again, hmm?”

“I dare say the same for you,” she commented, pulling Aurelius’ lead up to slow them from their break-neck speeds down to a gentler coast. The clouds were thin there, and the rugged landscape of Rigel stretched under them like the scaled hide of a dragon. In the distance, the vibrant greens of the Zofian forests were a stark contrast against the bare stone. “Mercenary or not, Zofians rarely travel around these parts... Come to think of it, there had been a veritable migration of them eastward.”

To the deserts. What in Mila’s name would a rag-tag crew of mercenaries be doing in the middle of the desert? Next thing one knew, they would be governing themselves.

“Nevertheless... I was on official business. As you surely witnessed, animosity has yet to subside.” That was putting it mildly. Even without his presence, Clair was certain that some sort of confrontation would have broke out just from her being there. Eventually. The trick was to get out of there before it happened. “Regardless of their thoughts on these matters, the unified kingdom must move forward... And the most secure lines of communication are mediated by riders such as myself, for reasons that should also be obvious to you now.”

[sublimitatis-blog]

midnight + gray

@mercantilemercenary

The moon was high in the sky. 

In the heart of the ballroom, the party still continued strong, like a great beat whose heart beat to the tempo of the strings and drums of the orchestra. It wasn’t that Clair didn’t enjoy herself, but there was only so much company she could handle for so long before even the generous drink table couldn’t sway her.

But they deserved to celebrate. They had survived a number of catastrophes in the recent past, and it was with equal parts joy and relief that they raised their cups and played their games. 

Loudly. 

Her ears were ringing even as she retreated to the courtyard and the fountain--Mother Mila, carved in stone, still watched over the gardens, water pouring forth from her outstretched arms--and sat at the water’s edge. Quiet. At last.

Before the war, she might have stayed and danced until the sun rose again but now... Clair kicked off her heels, wriggling her toes before her. Though her usual boots had something of a heel, these were ridiculous, and she could feel sore spots that would surely blister. Now, she had drills in the morning. 

“It is impolite to follow a lady so,” she commented idly as footsteps approached. She didn’t even turn to look at the newcomer; she knew the gait well enough.

[rigelsprince]

Myths [Berkut & Clair]

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rigelsprince:

Berkut exhaled audibly and his lips pressed into a thin line. He had known better than to ask, and yet still he called to her. But more curiously, she had waited. And waited still, albeit disdainful and judgmental. He wanted to break from her stare, but he willed himself to hold it, even as the shade of her visor lent it greater intensity.

“Do you expect me to deny your assumptions? To lie?” he asked. “I will not beg the gods for their power. Not again.”

Then why? The question remained, and he felt his time with the pegasus knight running out, even if they both knew that he would seek the mythical shrine with or without her help.

“I would sooner rejoice that it did not exist,” he admitted firmly, “but as long as there remains the possibility of returning the life I stole for myself, I am compelled to seek it.”

‘Because it went so well the first time you grovelled.’

She paused. “The life that you stole,” she echoed back with no small measure of incredulousness. She doubted he understood what he was saying. That sort of comprehension demanded self-reflection and awareness that, frankly, Clair hadn’t thought him capable of. There was little evidence in his favour.

“She was naught but a token to be pawned off to you then,” Clair accused, eyes hardening as she looked down at him once more. 

She hadn’t known the girl, not before her essence was consumed by Duma’s flames and her image distorted with horrible beauty. She wondered if the girl had been soft once, or if Rigel had forced her to be as callus as everything else it touched. “A thing to be used, then discarded. If distance makes the heart grow fonder, has death taught you to love? The worth of a life?” Sarcasm dripped thickly from her voice. The words of men were cheap; his meant nothing.

[sublimitatis-blog]

live a little + mitama

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haikusandstareyes:

Mitama felt her cheeks heat again. She cleared her throat. “Yes, well. Tonight then.”

The day passed both slowly and quickly, to Mitama’s displeasure. The lingering feeling that someone was aware of what they were planning would not leave her, despite having no reason to believe so. She was certain that her uncle may have picked up on the bizarre manners she displayed throughout the day, but for his credit, did not comment on it. She was thankful. She was not sure what she would have done had he.

That night she waited impatiently for her newfound companion outside where the kinshi were kept. She spun her staff between her hands anxiously. She would like to believe that bringing it was a simple case of being over prepared but…well, if the need arose, she would be thankful that she had it.

The sound of footsteps made her jump, but when she turned, it was none other than the awaited Lady Clair approaching. Mitama sighed with relief. “You pushed my heart into my throat! I kept worrying that someone would come by to tend to the creatures.”

The setting sun pulled her shadow longer and longer across the stone. Curses, she was going to be late. But Clair would rather be late than caught, so despite the urge to break into a run, she kept her footsteps light but brisk... Not light enough to go unnoticed by her partner-in-crime apparently.

“Peace, peace....” She laughed, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. It wouldn’t do to rile her up, but Clair couldn’t help but imagine if her cheeks coloured to match her hair. (Tentative verdict: most likely very charming.) “Well, allow me to push it back down--I was merely making sure that I was not followed. Still, you would forgive me, would you not?”

A broad smile said that she didn’t mean that truly. The knight took Mitama’s hand in her own and ducked into the roost.

Musty. Like the peafowl roosts at home, like fresh woodchip and... bird. Clair wrinkled her nose. It hadn’t occurred to her that birds might have an odour to themselves, but that made sense. Not something she would have ever discovered even if she had spent more time in Ram. “An older one, I should think? More... temperate in nature.”

[sublimitatis-blog]

live a little + mitama

[sublimitatis-blog]

haikusandstareyes:

Mitama nodded, though the girl’s phrasing made her curious. “Are they found elsewhere as well? I assumed on your reaction that they were native only to Hoshido.” How odd, to think something she’d always considered distinctly Hoshidan might exist elsewhere. She’d thought similar of pegasi, considering they had no place in Nohr, and yet this woman had disproved that so easily.

Mitama hesitated - she had to get so much closer to hear the woman when her voice dropped to a whisper, her voice had the loveliest cadence - in her response. Certainly, she had never longed for flight before, but she had always found those creatures to be beautiful. And while her own were small, she had always found a fondness for birds…

“…There are risks is fortune proves in our favour.” Her own voice was quiet as well. It felt right next to Lady Clair’s tone. “I am certain that there would be some displeasure in being caught in a flight of fancy.” But things were so beautiful already at the smallest change of angle. To be atop the bird, with it’s streaming feathers catching the sunlight and the landscape stretching out endlessly below.

“…If the flight is to be taken with you, I suppose I could suffer the height.”

“No, I cannot truthfully say I had seen one until... Moments ago.”

Common sense would dictate that, perhaps based off her ignorance of the species alone, it would be prudent to leave the birds alone for another day... But there was little to gain where no risks were taken, and it was not as if Clair was going to undertake some clandestine task by herself this time.

(That her accomplice assistant would likely be every bit as useless as she was if things went pear-shaped was another story entirely.)

“It follows then that we not be seen--nightfall would be more than suitable, and nothing would be left amiss by the time the sun rises again.” But little more was needed to persuade Mitama, and Clair could only offer a wide grin and a wink in return. “We will reconvene then, after all are settled. You will not be disappointed.”

[sublimitatis-blog]

throw back + saber

[sublimitatis-blog]

backswordforhire:

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. The girl to grab her pegasus, hop on and fly? He wouldn’t have blamed her if she bailed, she didn’t ask to get sucked into his shit, and he would’ve been just fine on his own. 

He’d never flown on a pegasus before. Seemed there was a first time for everything.

Saber grabbed her hand and pulled himself up on to the pegasus. He wasn’t given much of a time to settle himself before the beast went and kicked itself off into the sky. He grunted, but managed to stay on, and did his best to not put his hands on her too much. They weren’t that friendly.

“Thanks.” He grunted, looking back at the tavern behind them. Good thing he’d been travelling light. “Expected you to look after yourself and go. Would’ve been smarter. But thanks.”

Though this just gave him the chance to confirm what he’d thought. He turned back towards her and nodded (not that she could see it). “You were in that lad’s gang, weren’t you?” What had his name been? Celica had sulked over him often enough that he really should’ve remembered. “…Our new king, him.”

Aurelius took off with such force that even Clair felt her stomach drop as they felt the ground behind them. The raucous skirmish was soon drowned out by the whipping of wind around them. 

“Don’t be foolish--I am still looking after myself right now,” she huffed, barely pushing her visor into place as her hair blew around her face. It whipped back and... probably into the man’s face. But compared to the brawl that had escalated in minutes, surely that was a minor discomfort.

“Alm,” she replied, purposefully speak up over the turbulence. It confirmed her own suspicions. She thought he had looked familiar, even if just in passing. “And you were among the girl’s companions then, I take it. Queen Celica.” Lady Anthiese, she thought, but it was a name seldom spoken.

“It seemed as if you had some... unfinished business back there.”

[rigelsprince]

Myths [Berkut & Clair]

[sublimitatis-blog]

rigelsprince:

The moment she took her weight from him, Berkut pushed himself up and then, biting through the aches of bruises and cuts still in need of tending, rose to his feet. He would not allow her to overcome him again if she changed her mind, and now - as he stood nearly a head taller than her - she seemed hardly as threatening. The fingers of his right hand curled around an imaginary weapon, but even had he a lance or knife, he would never dream to plunge it through her turned back.

He was merely irritated. Humiliated. Suffocating emotions that had been a near-constant since his first encounter with the Deliverance. Since his first encounter with her, he realized.

“Wait,” he called, and regret joined the amalgamation of unpleasant feelings. Foolish, he chided himself, and for the moment that she afforded him to speak what had compelled him to stop her, he was silent. What did he have to lose? His honor was nothing in her eyes. He pressed on.

“Have you seen this shrine?” The desperation in his voice, as faint as it was, disgusted him.

She had not intended to wait, and yet, Aurelius stood poised to take flight, ready to go as soon as she gave the command and... It never came. There it was again, that same desperation she heard in the tower. A man who cared for nothing but his own desires, to hell with everything else. Had he learned nothing after all that? (Probably so.)

“What does it matter if I have, or have not?” Her tone with casual, but barbed. If he thought she would give him anything after all he had done, he would be sorely mistaken. “After all, you have made it abundantly clear that you neither believe nor want anything to do with Mila’s benevolence.”

Clair scoffed, tucking a blond tress behind her ear and pushing down her visor. “Or, perhaps, allow me to take a guess: more sight-seeing? Sacred sites must be nothing more than a passing attraction to you? And if it suits your fancy, drink deeply from another god’s chalice, hmm?” 

[aimless--archer]

Moving Day [Python & Clair]

[sublimitatis-blog]

aimless--archer: 

He doesn’t believe her for a damn second, but it’s easier to go along with it- and besides, it’s not as though he has any sort of high ground to stand on when they’re in the same boat anyways.  “Scouting, right,” he drawls, his skepticism plain, but any hostility mostly given way to amusement- for now.  Let her think she’s still got her dignity in this situation- it’s almost sad.  Python may not have a scrap of it most of the time, but at least he’s honest about it.

She’s pretty transparently turned his request around to be her idea- of course- but she’s accepted nonetheless, so he hitches his pack of stale food up higher on his shoulder and grabs his bow from where he’d leaned it against the wall.  Not that it’ll be much use in here unless they find a roomier space- the tunnels are too narrow and too full of sharp curves and winding bends to get the kind of distance he prefers.  As much as he wants nothing to do with close-quarters combat, at times he’s a bit envious of melee soldiers.  Bows are tricky- invaluable for picking off enemies at a distance, but useless as soon as they get too close.

He’d never admit it, but the idea of a battle without Forsyth to watch his back makes him nervous.  He certainly doesn’t trust her to do it- she’s shown herself to be plenty capable, but that doesn’t mean she cares enough to bother.

“So, since you’ve, uh, got a plan, I guess you’re leadin’ the way.” With a shrug and a pointed look, he adds, “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your high standards.”

His tone was abrasive, and if she had been but months younger--if the events that drove them here hadn’t transpired, hadn’t shaped them all and lefts their mark--then perhaps she would have snapped back. Her knuckles whitened over the scratched handle of her lance as she held it upright. ‘It would be safer in two,’ she reminded herself as she exhaled.

“Worry not,” she replied, matching his dryness word for word, as she turned on her heel, starting down the corridor. Python either would follow, or he wouldn’t, and honestly, she couldn’t muster what it took to care. (Though. Whatever his reasoning was, Forsyth would be devastated, she thought, and they didn’t need any more troops demoralized.) “I have become accustomed to being disappointed as of late.”

But that didn’t do anything for the fact that they were still lost. Lost together, sure, but absolutely lost. The walls still looked the same, but the air seemed to grow more stale. Were they wandering deeper? How deep did the catacombs extend? Around them, the steel bars had been torn from caches and niches that extended into the walls.

‘But were they to keep people out... or creatures in?’

Clair peeked around the corner. A single chest stood at the end of a blind-end corridor. She looked back at the archer.

[sublimitatis-blog]

throw back + saber

[sublimitatis-blog]

backswordforhire: 

The bar was suddenly so much more full. Rigelians were always interested in a fight to prove their skills, it was no surprise to see some people rushing in at the sound of one. What was frustrating was the damn knights charging in as well. Jail was not a place that he needed to be dragged off too.

There was a tug on his wrist and he spun around, but it was just the Zofian, pulling him behind the counter. He was glad to see they had the same idea on that front.

They rushed into the kitchen only to nearly trip over the bartender cowering in there. Saber scowled, but with a huff, grabbed some coins from his bag and dropping them off. “Maybe next time you should step in earlier to keep your place in one piece.” He grumbled, 

Moving forward, he grunted. Door was blocked off. Seemed stupid, but it didn’t take much to shove the crates out of the way. Luckily for them, nobody was waiting at the back door. The street was empty, most people rushing to the front of the bar. They could easily slip out without attracting attention.

He grunted and nodded for her to hurry out. “Let’s go. Where’s your mount?” The girl was clearly a pegasus rider.

It was a cacophony of heavy footsteps and raucous shouting, the breaking of glass and scrape of wood against wood... but little of registered to Clair over the steady but rapid beating of her heart and her heels on the tavern floor.

The man might have thought to look back, but Clair didn’t spare the brewing chaos behind her a second glance. Ahead of them, the door was blocked off. No words were exchanged between them. Clair simply gathered the scattered scrap wood and debris, kicking it aside while he moved the larger crates, and in a moment, they were free.

The fighting sounded so far away behind them--Clair knew how deceptive it could be. She didn’t respond to him, only bringing her fingers to her lips and giving a sharp whistle. Hoof beats sounded around the corner in response; Aurelius had already been circling.

(There was no need to tie down a pegasus; Aurelius could fend for himself.)

No sooner than the pegasus had skid to a stop, all four hooves digging into the soft ground to break his momentum, Clair planted a foot in the stirrup and swung herself into the saddle, one hand on the reins and the other held out to her (Partner-in-crime? Accomplice? They had done nothing wrong, not really) unexpected companion. “Behind me. Quickly now.”