#albwreckt

[machiot]

@albwreckt sent:

heh. easiest 50g of his life.

"Triple-dog dare you to rip off that redhead's shirt over there. I've got a guy who needs to see it off."

Marni looks over at this "redhead who needed his shirt off" and her face blanches.

That isn't just any redhead, that's Diamant! Like, KING Diamant. Of BRODIA. Who is probably still pissed at her for hoisting his father's body around like a sack of potatoes and stealing Emblem Roy, among an extensive list of other major and minor offenses.

No, even beyond that, he's wearing three layers at the very least! That's a lot of layers to get through! Pranking Griss and the big guy were different matters entirely, but wouldn't Veyle totally see her if she just marched right over there and snatched Diamant's shirt? Then, whoops! There goes her praise for not starting any major problems at the ball.

Ugh, but if she does pull it off, how incredible would that be? It's a major feat in of itself, so she'd be something like a hero if she pulled it off, right?

"Okay," Marni accepts, gritting her teeth. "But you'd better heap tons of praise on me if I manage it, got it? I'm talking TONS. If I pull this off, you're gonna worship the ground I walk on!"

[twistedisciple]

[ Fashion Police ] - What in the world is that person wearing, and are you fit to be judging them for it? Or are you instead the culprit in question?

"That's a nice outfit you've got on, pal. I know the struggle; shirts aren't cheap. But hey, real creative of you to use a fishing net instead! Know where I can get one for myself?"

Oh, this guy's huge. Probably bigger than Mauvier even with the blocky armor. Griss had watched him walk all the way over here, but it wasn't until he was in the man's shadow, craning his neck back to look him in the face that he finally felt like he was looking up into the trees. He could stand and reclaim some of the difference for himself, but it wouldn't matter much, so instead Griss reclines nonchalantly in his chair, arms hanging loosely on either side.

"Now that's an idea." His eyes light up at the suggestion and he tilts his head. "You got any nets on hand? The coarser the better. I'll cut you out a shirt that'll give ya all kinds of blisters."

It's not a threat, even though for Griss the line between threat and conversation is a thin one. The excitement in his smile says something else: that he's met someone who understands the necessity of unending penance, and the value of a hair shirt to achieve that end. He plucks at the sheer mesh of his own thin shirt and shakes his head with disappointment.

"This one's too soft. Besides--" This time he waves a hand at the man's six (eight?) chiseled blocks of muscle on display for the whole ballroom to see. "--you wanna get kicked out or something? Thought they made you wear shirts for events like these."

[hresvelged]

[Water ] - The liquid of life, the quencher of thirst. Served in crystalline glasses. And what’s more dramatic than throwing water at someone’s face!

"Well if it isn't Lady Edelgard. Haven't seen that Hubert of yours around, though. He off on a date or something?"

"In any case, take one of these, on the house. Oh, and if you need a water boy for the rest of the night, my rates run cheap!"

White locks glisten underneath the brightly lit room as Edelgard makes her way through a sea of faces— A number holding familiarity while others remain but a mystery. Balthus' visage stands out amongst the rest as he approaches her, moving a hand to rest on her hips as she peers upwards.

"A date?" The thought elicits slight amusement, even if she knows that to be far from true. She retorts the statement immediately. "No, most certainly not. Hubert is attending to another matter at the moment. I'm perfectly content without him here."

The glass of water moves to sit finely with her gloved fingertips, wrapping them around it with both hands: "Thank you for this. While I take note of the offer, I'm more than capable of getting water on my own. You should remain careful if you attempt this offer with anyone else, however."

[hermidetta]

"Pssst, Bernadetta!"

He walks up to her in the stupidest way you could imagine. A massive log of a man like him, trying to approach her stealthily? Yeah right. But Balthus is a dreamer, and some part of him truly does believe that their meeting would avoid the public eye.

"I know this is a bad time and all, but... Do you think you could spot a guy with some gold? I spent a fortune on tonight's duds." The hunch in his back straightens out as he shows off, a small flex emphasizing the rather alarming lack of a shirt. All that money, and the outfit isn't even complete.

"I can slide you one of these to make it worth your while." He jingles one of his small bells at her. "Or like, five, if you think they're cute."

somehow, across the past few months, bernadetta has collected a certain type to be in her company. there is one shared word among them all: giant.

bernadetta herself may not be the tallest—saints, she's not even anywhere near average—but even in respect to her tiny, pathetic frame, she has been immersed in the company of the very, very large. she doesn't know how it happened, but it is what it is. maybe it's even doing her some good.

balthus already has the grace of some familiarity through his class; ever since she'd latched onto professor lambert, she's been akin to a rodent in his pocket, a rabbit among wolves. it's been occurring more and more to her that these men are just a lot like caspar, except their bodies actually fit their giant voices.

so when balthus fee-fi-fo-fums over to bernadetta, she has the decency to only squeak a little. it doesn't carry into a full shriek. balthus is actually the person she's been looking for, and realization dawns upon her features.

"o-oh! um... great timing, actually!" there's something in her hands. it's plain, not perfect, but it's the best bernadetta could have done with what little material she could find. only the front matters, anyway, if balthus is wearing an open coat. she fumbles with a few syllables before decidedly just shoving the gift into his bare torso.

"bernie made you a shirt," she says first. "at first she thought you were just being all macho. you know, with your humongous macho muscles. the ones that could snap bernie's spine like a twig. but then she thought, um, it might be really sad...because, well, what if you just couldn't afford one? that'd be awful."

also because that's just false advertising. those aren't sweet bread buns at all.

gold, though? he's out of luck. a varley she may be, but any of that name's wealth is hogged by her father. still, the question gives her pause. then, bernadetta rummages through her pockets for what little gold she has. her mother pities her enough to send a few pieces each month along with her letters. she doesn't mind parting with it.

"here you go." bernadetta holds it out, along with one of those teardrop crystals in her possession. "you don't have to pay bernie back or anything. but, um, i guess i'll take the bells anyway? they are kind of cute."