#ephemeralove

[hosannan]

@ephemeralove, should we leave the veils on...?

[ LIGHT ]  She only hears a description of the dance in passing, herself already scanning the crowd for a glimmer of the sun's gold. 'A show of faith', the voice without a face calls it, and that is when Katarina slows to a stop. 'An expression of trust.' Memories rise to the surface -- of Nanna, of the homes she makes in dresses and how she smiles when they billow out around her, and Katarina has never been any good with words, but in that moment she thinks she might try to share her affection for her friend in a language that so well suits her. Fingers curl gently around the stem of a tulip, the first she has plucked from her bouquet, as the wallflower watches from her shadow in hopes of bringing a smile to the day. "Nanna..." Her name is murmured softly, a breath that tickles the petals of the flower Katarina now offers her. "You're beautiful," she says again, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a rare mirth; though just because she laughs, that does not speak less of her sincerity. "Tonight especially. "...I learned a dance on the way here." The words feel ticklish in her throat, made bashful by a lifetime of being made less than, but they endure through the love of a knight with too many scars, a boy in a broken mirror, and the girl in front of her who gave her a new word: living. And when her heart beats, it is only in their answer. Katarina holds out her hand. "I wanted to dance it with you."

A valediction in gold made Nanna feel more naked than she had ever allowed herself prior. Gone were the petals off her veil and the seelie skin of magic that had obscured her face. Nanna had never really allowed herself to glimmer as sorrowfully nor as lost as she did then. But she suspected that her partner would understand, more than anyone, that even a princess must set down her steady crown and mourn imperfection. Gathering her skirts, (step! step! step!) Nanna dedicated a majestic stroll across the dance floor to seek out someone in particular. Scanning the floor up and down, Nanna was searching for someone dangerous.

Someone she had to protect.

The moment Katarina erupted into her view, Nanna felt her petals scatter once more, pushing off her heels like they were winged and opening up her armspan to take her dear friend for a spin. Heels clattering, laughter in peels, Nanna exclaimed: "Katarina...! You're here!" No masquerade to shroud her eyes this time, Nanna wondered if it was really okay to be this naked. (He loves me, he loves me not.) "...And what of you? My dear friend, the moon misses you like a lover, beautiful as you are!"

Nanna watched the way Katarina's eyes crinkle and felt like fresh earth was being tilled and tended to. Crow's feet resembled delicate fingers rounding their tips into the soil. Nanna has no idea how rare they are, for in each other's company, Katarina has always been a spotless memory with smiles drawn like love lines.

"I've been hearing whispers..." Nanna's laughter came in softer than thunder. "If you'll have me, I shall do right by your trust in me."

Katarina had always— (there was a swell in her throat)— She had always made the next leap feel predestined. If there was anything worth its weight in courage, it was to trust her and carry onward. To answer her, Nanna drew out an orchid and brushed it behind her friend's ear. Enchanted candlelight flickered from scarlet to grayscale, as only the faintest of outlines are left for them to discern from the dark.

Courage is as courage does.

Nanna clasped both Katarina's hands, and spiralled them into the crowd.

"...Have you started to find it easy? To speak to others? Have you discovered anything new about yourself?"

[shystratagem]

[ TXT ] : Mark, I think we need to make new plans as soon as possible.

[ TXT ] : Someone tore down the little library again...

[ TXT ] : Do you know anyone who can help fix it? I'll take care of the books.

A game of telephone || accepting!

[TXT]: NO [TXT]: HOW COULD SOMEONE BE THAT CRUEL????

It was truly tragic. It was such a nice little thing, just a resource for children to find more books to read. Who could possibly have any reason to destroy it? It didn't even seem like it was an accident, especially not when it had happened repeatedly. Why would anyone ever do such a thing?

[TXT]: Are the books damaged? I can donate some from my collection if we need replacements.

[far-from-common]

[ CORN ] "L'Arachel," comes the softly spoken greeting, though no words follow it for a few beats. Instead her eyes shift, subtly but surely -- wider at first, as she takes in the woman's ensemble, and then undeniably tender.

"...I like your outfit." She giggles quietly, but the compliment is sincere; her heart would not swell as it did otherwise. "Here... I wanted to show you this snack. Doesn't it remind you of the bowling alley...?"

"Katarina, my dear friend." L'Arachel gives her the fondest of smiles, her demeanour more subdued than usual. Her compliment, acompanied by her gentle gaze, makes it all worth it. The money poured into it, the effort that went into meeting with so many people to make the clothes, the pushback she had to give in order to make sure they stay fully true to what she had worn back then.

All of it, worth it. Without a single doubt.

And whilst her mind is already being cast back, upon being presented with the snack Katarina is holding, L'Arachel finds that it is indeed quite similar to one of the snacks that the alley of bowling balls had offered.

"I believe they had called it popcorn, had they not? I am most pleasantly shocked to see it again!" She lets out a fond laugh.

"It does make me ponder once more the nature of that world. Is this snack known widely in other lands, or was it prophetic?" Come to think of it, one of the new features of the photo-artifex reminds her of that world as well. Was that also prophetic, or was that merely knowledge of Fortuna being used to advance their own world?

"Ah, but that ought to be a question best saved for later. For now, our main thought ought to be revelry! Let us celebrate the best of both worlds by sharing this lovely snack." She smiles, putting down her bouquet, only to then pick it back up again and pull out a lily, holding it out for her good friend to take.

"It may not be as magnificent as the ones you helped adorn my head with, but I hope you shall cherish it all the same." She beams.

[carefreemonk]

"Professor," comes the softly-spoken greeting. He is not her professor anymore, but that does not mean she did not appreciate all that she learned from him. Perhaps she may even miss his strange insistence on calling the most quiet, boring student of his midday class. ...Well, maybe by half.

This year her charm sits nestled precariously in the bow of a wrapped gift. Something like last year's bell would have been less easy to lose, but it stands out enough against the dark brown cover that it should be easy enough to spot if it begins rolling its merry way away. Holding it out to him, she bows slightly.

"I think I'll miss your class most of all." Strangely enough, but true even so. "Thank you for looking out for me all this time. I may not have always seemed grateful, but I was. I am."

A second edition of some Archanean text on faith and philosophy, pockets not quite deep enough for a first, but old and well-kept enough to be of some value still.

"Thank you, Professor." Katarina smiles at that, small but unabashed. "I hope you enjoy the ball."

"Hm? Oh, Katarina. Hello."

How curious. Azama is not prone to flights of emotion. But there stirs in him a swell of... something when he is approached by a woman once a student of his, now graduated unto the academy's order of knights.

Brow quirks. "You shouldn't poke fun at your elders, miss." She'd miss his class? It's hard to picture, even as he rescues pearl charm from the top of the gift and attaches it to his bracelet without thinking twice, and then plucks at the wrapping itself without much fanfare. Both brows lift upon the tome's title being revealed - not so much in awe but more so in surprise.

First his birthday, and now this?

What can he possibly have done to deserve such kindness?

Would his eyes be misting were they to creak open? We may never know.

He clears his throat. His old smile is back. He tucks the book to his side with care. With his free hand, he plucks a starfish from his own bracelet to exchange with his-- his not-student.

"Ohoho~ It's not 'professor' anymore, you know. It's just... Azama. This is a poor equivalent to your gift but for the now, I'll admit it's all I have on me. Now then!" He turns on his heel with a small wave of the book. "I must find someplace safe to keep this for the eve. Do try not to have too much fun now~!"

[flaurum]

hweeo ♡

[ child generator meme ]

hweeo c:

This is a child who looks to be laidback albeit a bit on the introverted side.

Pretty and bright, but isn't interested in shining bright - just wants to do the best she can do... That said, she's easily her own worst critic.

Fairly popular for someone who's on the more soft-spoken side. When she speaks, others listen, as she doesn't waste words on anything she doesn't mean.

[renaisguy]

It does take her a minute or so to commit to the decision to approach him, and another to prepare, but eventually the mage does walk up to the man in red with a glass in one hand and a napkin in the other.

"Excuse me..." Her head dips slightly as she comes closer, half apologetic. "You have, um..." Eyes flick down to the stain on his suit, then retreat to the drink in her hand, its contents clear and sparkling. Surely he knows. She skitters hastily into her explanation, gloved hands dipping a corner of the cloth into the drink. "Wh, what I mean is... this should help you get it out. M-mostly, at least."

Forde glances down at that accursed stain, the one blight on this wonderful evening. Sure, it's a conversation starter, but not one that gives the best first impressions.

"Ah, thank you." He takes the napkin with a smile. He's unsure how helpful it'll be on a stain made hours ago, but there's no reason to be ungrateful. He dabs the wet cloth at the soup stain, and...

"Ha-" Before his eyes, the stain shrinks. "Ha ha ha!" Glimpses of white fabric appear again, and in a few swift moments, his suit is untainted. He can't hold back, letting out a burly laugh. He holds his jacket out to the light, and it seems to twinkle. (That's why they call them sparkling drinks).

"Thank you!" He smiles at his saviour. "I only wish I'd done this sooner... I'm Forde, by the way, may I have your name?" He fishes a white feather from his pocket. "I wish there was more I could give, but please accept this."

[goldoanheart]

Wall-E Looks Different Than I Remember [Team 7 Iron Round]

It’s like in the moment that he blinks, they are suddenly within another arena, though slightly different from the last. More metallic, more confining. And the enemies across the way are giant beasts of metal, unlike anything Kurthnaga has ever seen before. Certainly, he has seen things this large, but never any behemoths of metal, of bolts and steels.

He still has his trusty hammer within his hands - he has grown quite used to the bulky weapon and would have been sad to see it part any time soon - but another axe has found itself attached to his hip. And...

Oh.

Oh. His knees feel rather weak as he realises the type of mount that he has now. The creature seems fairly content with the situation, compared to what he’d heard about- no, it was too painful to think about. With a shaky hand, he carefully runs his fingers along the beast’s scales, allowing a moment to get used to his new mount. He fiddles with his second axe, carefully not to scrape his fingers against its purple tinted edge. It seems to be inflicted with poison of some sort. He wasn’t sure if poison worked against these robots, but it was worth a shot. Anything was worth a shot to escape whatever sort of nightmare this was becoming.

Gripping the reins with pale knuckles, he speeds over to the largest robot of the bunch, the one that seems to be their leading. He stands, patting his dragon on top of the head, a silent communication between the two of them as some sort of kin, telling it to stay put for the moment as he leaps from its back to slam his axe into the giant metal beast’s head.

Kurthnaga activates Smash using Venin Axe! Roll 1d20+3= 10! Hit! Critical Damage! (6-3=3) | Alloy Arsenal: Bipedal HP= 17/20.

Minor Poison Damage!

Stunned!

As he falls after his attack, he lands safely back on his mount’s back, and he gives it a soft, nervous pat as a reward for catching him. He glances up, realising the metal beast has been sent into some sort of state of being stunned and turns to his teammates, calling out his advice - though he couldn’t be certain how sound it was with no knowledge of these sorts of giant metal creatures.

“It seems to be stunned for the time being! I’d try to attack it now while it can’t attack back, and quickly! Who knows how much time we will have!”

to: @aimlessarchery , @carefreemonk , @ephemeralove , @valkyrrian​

[arcstral]

"Sire..." Her voice crumbles softly into silence as she takes the measure of his injuries, a knit of her brow soon enough undone in... not satisfaction-- that it was she who returned to him felt odd no matter the situation, it seems-- but relief, certainly. Another moment passes, and she places the drink near to his hands; the knight searches in that time for something to say, lips parted but still, until:

"...I've brought you a juice box." At last, a faint smile unfurls, a gentleness touching the corners of her eyes. Relief, warmth, affection... the name hardly matters. "I hear they're very good." Only now does her posture ease, hands held not to her chest in hiding, but by her stomach in simple idleness. After all of this, Katarina finds she does feel emboldened, somehow.

"Next year... Next year, I'll make you proud, Sire." There is even a twinkle in her eye, faint though it may be! And though she means it full-heartedly, there is a levity to her tone -- a joke, in some sense, albeit she has not once in her life made a good one. But she tries; she smiles, for him.

                Before the utterance belonging to a single 'sire', violet hair reaches the fringes of his vision first, going on to command its space entirely as he twists upon his seated hip to gaze upon a familiar knight. The circumstances of Katarina's arrival then are made immediately clear- visitation or not, only those who lose their battles find themselves trickling downstream into this particular pond; swimming with the injured, their unfashionable regrets, and those with too much time on their hands. Katarina, following hot on the heels of her lord, has lost.

                Within the fast fall of seconds, his knowing expression greets - acknowledges - parses her all in the same breath. This range of activity lands him somewhere in the nebulous ditch between friendly and fatherly regard, but above all, Marth's voice for her is kind. "—Katarina. You did well."

                Gauging her foremost, his eyes flicker down to the offered drink last. True to her statement, there is a juice box, and there is Katarina, too. Hands wringing at her chest and standing at the base of her lord's cot awaiting his response, this initial image of her reels in two imaginative, humorous impressions; the one of a wagging tail and retrieved disk in mouth at Marth's feet, or another involving a penitent sinner; her libation placed upon an altar in redeeming gesture. But he knows the other is neither begging for one man's favor, nor beseeching his divine forgiveness, and the amusement he wears is decidedly all to his own.

                "...Hm." His laugh is a mystery as Marth gathers the juicebox into his hand and pokes into its orifice with a straw. It is hardly her earnest promise that he pokes fun at alongside, but the fact that Katarina does not know she has already reached its end- his unfurling words, slow and sincere, reveal everything to the mind in due time. "There is no need to look for another year. You have always made me proud, Katarina. Trying one's best, giving one's all... such things matter, too. You needn't bring a lord victory to earn his highest regard, and the same is true for mine." Or a seat at his table for another matter.

                If there is one upside for which two losers can be grateful it is the time they can spend together. His free hand pats the space beside him with a smile, more expressive of invitation than any scrawl of ink upon a letter. "Now, then. I know of a way to pass the time. I'd like to know of your battle—and I insist you do not leave out a single detail."