#encantresse

[dcggersedge]

[ WAIT ]: realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 👀 | Accepting!

Edelgard had warned her that this day would eventually come. Even so, Yunaka had stupidly hoped that the house leader might change her mind.

There's chaos everywhere. No one is really paying attention to what's going on around them as they scramble to collect what they can. An extra piece of armor, a sharper weapon, as if any of that make make the smallest bit of difference. Maybe it will. Or maybe this is all just doomed to play out the same way no matter what.

Yunaka isn't rushing for any of that. She walks through the monastery with a purpose. They need to leave. There's too many people here who are important to Elyos's future, they can't fall to another war like this. She needs to find them and make sure they're actually going, all of them, she needs to make sure that

A hand closes around her wrist like a manacle, and Yunaka whirls around like a prisoner fighting to be free. Her other arm lifts to do something she hasn't decided yet (to push back, to brace, to pin, to something) when she meets green eyes and jerks abruptly to a stop.

"Dorothea." Right. Because they're students. Students at a war school, sure, but students all the same, who'd obviously turn to their professors for guidance in the face of something like this.

Or be at the very helm of it, leading the chaos. Obviously.

Yunaka deflates slowly. She's come to like being a professor. And she cares about her students, she does. But...but staying means having to fight. Having to claw to survive again.

She can feel the way one of her stars is hanging from her hair, almost slipping out. She pulls her hand free from Dorothea and fixes it back in place.

"...I'm sorry." She should have said something sooner. She should've tried to convince Edelgard otherwise. She should've...done a lot of things that don't matter now.

"I'm sorry. Good luck."

[fellsparks]

encantresse asked: [ MOVIE - OPERA ] - A techno-magical reproduction of a famous opera following a young soldier seduced by a fiery woman, through which his downfall is ensured. despite what's projected on the walls, and with little care for how it had once been a reprised role of hers, there is only one pressing matter to address here—a burning question that has persisted since she was last approached by the man himself. "how long have you and professor laslow been together? i've never once believed all those rumors about him, you know—about how he's incapable of securing dates. clearly he's done something right!"

Nel hadn't been surprised running into Dorothea here, though it's evident that neither of their attentions are truly turned to whatever is happening on the moving screen. She'd always assumed it would be a matter of time before a student questioned her on her choice of date, but... It's a little jarring coming from Dorothea. Perhaps because it's someone closer than 'just a student', but Nel suddenly feels as if her turtleneck is beginning to constrict her. A noble effort is put forth to clear her throat, along with a nervous shift of her posture in her seat. "I- Hm." Together? As in... arriving here? Surely not. The question is more complicated than she knows how to give a quick answer to. "I assume you refer to ... courting, versus our arrival to the ball." Dark brows furrowed, Nel's fingers trace around the rim of her cup that had been noticeably untouched. "Some... time..... has passed. There is- Well. There has been nothing set in stone, I believe." A difficult enough question and conversation to tip-toe around in its own right. "Admittedly, I have heard few rumors about him. Perhaps it is because I do not engage in much conversation." (Something tells her she's only digging a grave for herself.) Right, right. There's another half to this. "I see you arrived hand-in-hand with Ferdinand. The two of you are beautiful together. I wish you nothing but the utmost happiness.... he is a sharp young man, and you, a sharp young woman." @encantresse

[lobeiro]

@encantresse sent:

[ NETWORK ] - One of your fellow ball-goers is being accosted, and getting into earshot, you realize it’s by someone who claims to be one of the scouts looking for talent. But they’re being a little pushy, aren’t they? And are you sure they’re really who they say they are?

There shouldn't be any bandits prowling around a monastery sanctioned event, but enough time spent on the road has made Kurt keenly attuned to the look in someone's eye that tips off when a person is looking for an easy target. That glint of the eye, a gaze fixated on one person that skirts away only when they can sense the gaze of another on them, the wolfish smile of someone watching a single person split away from the safety of the herd.

There is one such man in particular that Kurt has been watching all night and it is when that man starts making a beeline for his target that he cuts off his approach by extending a hand to the woman he'd been gunning for.

"Would you care for a dance?" Kurt offers with a princely smile. He shortens the distance between them with a step and lowers his voice. "Behind me and to the right. The man in the gold suit has been following you for a while now. Are you alright?"

He doesn't cut a very imposing figure when the girl has a solid five centimeters on him even without considering heels, but he has long since accepted that while he can (and must) act the part of the prince, he cannot will himself to be any taller. There are many things in his life he cannot give up on, but his height is not one of them. That ship has sailed.

He can feel the weight of the man's gaze on his back now, but he doesn't allow the pleasant smile to leave his face.

"My name is Kurt. I am the... prince of Ast." Again, his voice lowers. "I can speak to him if you wish to use the opportunity to create some distance from him."

[loyaldeserter]

[ SHAVED ICE ] - Served with a wide assortment of sweet, fruity syrups. Traditionally, it is served in bowls, but some are saying it makes for quite a refreshing sip when drank from a glass.

Heath's found himself a comfy nook to the side of the dance floor, nursing a drink the students seem to be describing as a 'slushie.' He can't quite place the blend of fruit--something tropical, perhaps? It's an easy thing to focus on, especially when his nerves stand on anticipatory end if he thinks too much about the night as a whole.

"Huh? Oh, hello Dorothea." It takes him an embarrassingly long couple of seconds to recognize that a friendly face has sidled up to him. A social and popular student, even the young songstress needs a break from the action as well, it seems. "I hope the night is treating you well."

Absently, Heath notes Dorothea's well-stuffed bouquet. Is there a tulip in it? He can't quite tell from here. His focus, however, is drawn to the glass in her hand, filled with the same slush concoction. She's even chosen the same syrups as Heath, if his eyes don't deceive him.

"Are these flavors local?" Another sip. Is there some kind of berry mixed in here? Setting his drink down on a nearby table, he fishes out a particularly bright yellow tulip, a small smile playing on his lips. "Give me a hint for one of these? Or, well, you can have it anyway. I'm just curious. We never did quite have flavors like this in Bern."

[nobilisseoblige]

though already dressed for the party, dorothea lingers at his side — reluctant, it seems, to head off despite her promise to attend. while she knows his reasons for staying behind, there lingers a selfish pang of disappointment in knowing they would not be attending as a couple.

( nevertheless, she reminds herself they do not need to put themselves on display to prove their affection for one another, anyway. )

“will you be okay, ferdie?” her hand grazes against his lightly, eyes scanning his features for anything that might suggest otherwise before she sets something before him.

inspired by the gift he made her last yuletide, she presents to him a simple wooden box she’d gotten help whittling, crude as it may be compared to the music box he crafted for her. on its lid, a simple carved heart. and when opened, a golden compass sits atop velvet lining—a compass that he would recognize as the one belonging to the famed dominic castro. more precisely still, the exact compass dominic castro wore during the duet ferdinand once claimed to love.

“i’ll only be gone for an hour,” dorothea reassures him. “when i get back, i was thinking...maybe we could have dinner together?” she presses a light kiss to his cheek, her own face flushing faintly. “can you believe it’s almost been a year? we sang our first duet around this time. who knew we’d come this far?”

it had taken her a while to see ferdinand for the man he was. ironic for someone so versed in the great operas — she'd overlooked the foreshadowing that had always been there. the intertwined fates of the young girl and boy who met at the fountain that day, destined to never off shake off the memory of one another.

“happy valentine’s day, ferdie.” her blush deepens still. “thank you for waiting on me.”

Valentine's Day

he bore a moral onus that no one else would truly understand, but he believed it would be prudent to stay behind. was this stewardship? duty? her pinkie grazed the side of his—there came the fever. the vapors. he almost wants to go. it is a shame that he cannot, and that he will not, to save the feelings of one of his good friends.

"you are beautiful." he does not answer her question. it is not for him to answer, because he is not the right person to ask right now. "enjoy yourself as you are, my dear. not in my place, but just as yourself."

his fingers wrapped around this small delight like he might break it. with eyes possessed by light, Ferdinand Von Aegir smiled like this year was the last, and that he had not made the mistakes that he did. a gasp. apple cheeks too round, too sweet. "truly? you are giving this to me? Dorothea, this is invaluable!" there is only one! one compass in this entire world that sat heavy in Dominic Castro's pocket, on that stage, with the world's ears waiting for him to find direction. he was lucky to be a star by her side, but Ferdinand Von Aegir was luckier to make memories more intimate, still.

"what is North, if not you?" he declared shamelessly, not a line in the musical but a line he knew he would make if he were on that stage instead of Castro.

"I would tell you to take your time, as a gentleman's courtesy, but you know ought to know I crave your company. do come home soon." Ferdinand beamed the moment her lips met his cheeks.

there came the fever. the vapors. he almost wants to go.

a sheepish thrill of his index ran the prominent bend of her wrist joint. he blushed. the gesture itself is more modest than the highs of their last ball, but more bold than their time at Cupido Bash. how was it that she found him now, shyly drawing his gloved fingers down to the curve of her thumb? had his heart somehow retreated a little? not out of lack of love, but because he loved her in excess? "a year has passed, and your light is all the same to me. I have no doubt that that is a sign of my consistent devotion. how is it that it has only been a year?"

at her claim to his time, he playfully scoffed. "ha! is that not what courtship is? I shall wait on you obediently. buzzing as I usually do." even in this confidence, his face was a ripe red, as he swiftly realized that she had begun to color just as vibrantly.

"um." he cleared his throat. "if you continue to gaze at me like that, it will be difficult to let you go. please, do have mercy on my heart. the host is a friend is he not? go ahead, dear. and do take this along with you."

he clicked a chain of pearls around her wrist. "pearls from the shores of Aegir. when we took that trip, I had wanted to bring you back something from my home. there." he adjusted it just so, thumbing a pearl affectionately. "I knew it would fit. I have wrapped my fingers around your wrist so often that I swear I have it memorized."

"if you are my direction, allow me to be your home. all of Aegir's pearls are yours."

"happy Valentine's Day," he beamed, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "I shall see you soon."

[hosannan]

@encantresse, look how cute! how did she get in...?

[ SPILL ] the unlikely culprit reveals itself in the form of a monastery cat—though this one in particular is a wiggly kitten, no older than a few months if she had to guess. it slinks across the drinks table, knocking over a glass that very narrowly misses both of their dresses to stain the tablecloth instead.

dorothea’s solution is a simple one. she whisks the animal into her arms and cradles it, then holds it out to nanna so she can dote all the same.

"naughty! i wonder how she got in?"

“…….Oh no—!”

The exclamation escaped Nanna in a breathy rush as the glass tipped, crystal catching the ballroom lights before its contents spilled uselessly across the cloth instead of silk. Her hands lifted instinctively toward her skirts despite the near miss, relief arriving a heartbeat later.

And then Dorothea was already scooping the culprit into her arms.

The kitten wriggled indignantly against her hold, all oversized paws and restless energy, tiny ears flicking with absolutely no remorse for the chaos it had caused. At the sight of it, whatever composure Nanna had briefly gathered dissolved almost immediately into mischief.

“…Oh, you dreadful little thing,” she murmured, though the affection in her voice rendered the scolding entirely ineffective.

When Dorothea held the kitten toward her, Nanna accepted it at once— ("here, hold my bouquet, Dorothea…!")— cradling the tiny creature carefully against the darker fabrics of her dress as though it were something precious rather than criminal. The kitten kneaded experimentally against her sleeve, and her expression softened so thoroughly it seemed to glow.

“I suspect,” she said thoughtfully, lowering her head just enough for the kitten to curiously bat at one of the ribbons near her shoulder, “that she entered exactly the same way anyone else did.” A glance lifted toward Dorothea then, warm with mischief. “With enough confidence to convince anyone to let them in.”

The kitten gave a tiny, triumphant mewl.

Nanna laughed quietly beneath her breath. “You see? Not even a denial.”

The kitten began to play with the decorative flowers hanging off her waist.

"Oh, before I forget, do take an orchid. It matches your dress so well! Hehe! This little one certain wants to."

[princessmacedon]

[ TEA ] Just what it says on the tin! The only teas offered are Mint, Bergamot, Sweet-Apple Blend, Albinean Berry Blend, and Southern Fruit Blend, wrapped in small tea bags. Some students, having anticipated a small selection, bought their own tea.

♫⋆｡♪ “miss maria! dorothea warbles. "the fairest is she, might consider joining for tea?” ♫⋆｡♪

in a grand sweeping gesture, she produces a baby-blue tin for the other to inspect. "i have it on good authority that it's unlike anything we've ever tried!"

"Oh!" Were she more practiced in song, Maria might have answered with a short verse of her own. Alas! She is but a hobbyist, not called by the stage but to it, her voice elsewise lent to vaguely remembered lullabies and little, leafy friends in need of pruning.

So instead she grabs her dress and twirls a bit, the very best of her curtsies offered in thanks at the end of Dorothea's song. When she rises, it is to laughter, to a gentle touch bracing the bottom of the tin in service of a grand and thorough inspection.

"Miss Dorothea!" She lilts, a song not in note but in spirit, a flash of mirth in the eyes that scamper up to meet hers. "After a su-per serious inspection, I have to agree! Because..." All at once, with the blazing determination of a risen phoenix, she points right at the tin.

"That color! It's way too pretty! We definitely would've remembered seeing it, right?"

With a laugh, she scoots up next to Dorothea, leaning in with a hand hooked on the far side of her mouth. This is, after all, a serious deal.

"But if we save the tea for later this week... I could bake a bunch of different kinds of cookies, and we could play teatime roulette! What do you think? They could go together really well, or-- hee hee! Not at all! Doesn't that sound fun?"

[rafent]

[ SLIP-UP ] - As it turns out, a lot of people at the monastery make for great body doubles in the dark. What do you do when you slap a friend on the back only for you to find out when they turn around that it's not your friend at all? / /

she’s observed plenty of mishaps within the hour — loud squabbles born of mistaken identities, fistfights nearly breaking out over perceived handsy behavior, and her own blunder, naturally, in having been taken aback by the sudden darkness.

( who but that unfortunate group, sent to execute Blade, would know what can go wrong in the dark? )

dorothea voices none of this. instead, she stands close beside rafal, absently twirling a plucked flower between her fingers while her brow knits contemplatively at the sights before them: silhouettes backlit by the soft glow of ethereal light, shadows dancing along the walls.

“how long has the church known about these illusory effects, i wonder?” finally, the tulip is extended to him. "seems like it can be used for a lot more."

For a moment, it was not the Ethereal Ball. For that same duration, girl and dragon returned to times of yore. A time of weasel house camaraderie with few stakes that might endanger them; then, a more difficult, a more dangerous, and more uncertain one terrorized by mystery, each of these served only by their answer and alliance. Stirring little at Dorothea's words, Rafal behaved as if her company were expected. So joined at hip, so unified of mind, it was as if nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

"Indeed. The way I should see it, the church fails to grasp the true potential of such illusions. They are purposed for meager amusement now, but I would argue their power here goes to waste. . ." The words trailed, a touch too cynical for the joyous occasion of this ball, though they failed to halt for that conscientious reason in particular. He accepted her tulip, then turned his regard onto Dorothea herself: tonight a comely creature. Rare and sanctified as all flowers were.

Rafal's apocalyptic world had known nothing of beauty, nothing of its pursuits; not the peacetime for which a fine dress as hers might be worn, nor the surplus of materials by which it might be made. It was pleasing in that way, even sacred, such chiffon and silk to one that had more often witnessed their abandonment and tear, greater dabbled in destruction than delicate creation. Juxtaposed with his original elements of belonging, still could Rafal appreciate as a brute of a carcanet, or a sinner of a church.

And so, beyond himself—in spite of himself—the harsh edges of the Atoning Dragon, cruelest of all Sombron's children, softened. Beginning with his eyes. "You look beautiful," he complimented as any human might, sincere, before presenting to her his own hyacinth for taking. "I believe it a custom for this year. If not that, permit it to be a gift from me to you. For, well. . .everything that you've done."

That 'everything' went unspoken: flowers enjoyed without thorns, petals without association with cough. For once in a long time, Rafal would do without these. Only on her and Seadall's aid could it be so.