#ferpxclosed

[arcwindsage]

Miscalculation || Soren v. Nils

There was a certain artistry in spell invention, the way lines of research came together into perfect, concentric balance. That being said, of course, there was also a certain ugliness about it-- namely, troubleshooting the kinks by practicing the spell in question. Thus far, Soren’s latest foray into experimental magic had led to three public mage laboratories collapsing as a result of altered wind pressure, and the liquidizing of a fourth one’s walls into mud.

For this purpose, the mage had made a foray into a forest little-traveled and set about casting and altering his spell. It was woefully inaccurate, spinning off at almost random cardinal directions. Frustrated, Soren pressed his lips into a thin line and pushed more power than necessary into his next casting, the wind howling and shrieking for him.

He would have continued the spell if not for the sight of a small, humanoid figure on his periphery, “What are you doing? Get out of here!”

[man4flowers-blog]

A Little Night Music || Inigo+Gerome

The worst thing about the night watch, thought Inigo, was that it was dreadfully, painfully boring. Perhaps one night in every thirty something interesting might happen-- and by “interesting,” Inigo was referring to something like a raccoon breaking into their garbage. Exciting nights were but one in a hundred, when people would be out celebrating or a thief would break into camp.

He expected tonight would be much the same... especially since his fellow night patrolman was Gerome, who wasn’t exactly famous for being talkative.

“So, uh,” Inigo tried to start a conversation. He dreaded the silence like it would suffocate him. “Not a bad night to be on patrol duty... the weather’s good, at least. A shame, though, we aren’t free to explore the taverns at this hour...”

[man4flowers-blog]

Popularity 101 || Inigo+Cynthia

His feet dragged on the dirt path back from town as Inigo returned to camp, wearing a faintly red handprint on his face and carrying a handful of wilted daisies. His other hand held a small parcel of lye laundry soap, purchased so that he could wash the dung off his clothes-- a particularly displeased maiden had shoved him into a pile of manure.

 So, too, were his pockets empty-- the vendor insisted that he buy the lot (”You break it, you buy it!”) though he wasn’t entirely certain how one “broke” manure. The vast majority, he’d given to farmers along the way back, and the rest he’d given to a florist, who promised him a bouquet of fresh blooms tomorrow in exchange.

Just another normal day for Inigo, then.

“Why is it that I, a nice guy, can’t get a break?” Inigo whined out loud. “Everyone hates me... guys, girls, and even most animals!”

[arcwindsage]

Name || Soren v. Ike

The name of the Greil Mercenaries, and particularly the name of their commander, seemed to have spread across the land most thoroughly. If there was one thing that seemed to come out of the Goddess’ War, it was the enormous influx of jobs that came their way.

Of course, it fell to their tactician-accountant to organize these jobs. He’d charted them neatly, a page for each of the Beorc countries and one more for the Laguz, sorted according to offer of pay. It would be up to Ike to choose which ones they’d take-- though Soren glared down at “Begnion; Baroness Oenona; false fiancee needed for two weeks; pay: 3000 g + room & board.” 

He desperately hoped Ike had no intention of accepting that one; it would be an utter waste of his skills, even if it was extraordinary pay. But of course, it was hardly Soren’s place to decide.

With a note of derision, he snorted. Of course, they’d receive these job offers hardly a fortnight back at their old fort. Soren skulked around their headquarters, keeping his eyes open for his commander. Where would he be at this time of day?