#fjalarspark

[berglietz]

A fellow peer -- more boisterous than Azelle could ever will of himself -- had been assigned as his first partner in this game's early duration, and Azelle couldn't ponder past the rabble-rouser of an opponent their host had assigned him against. ( Against? . . . no, that wasn't quite the right word, not for a game this low-stakes. )

"Excuse me, Sir Bergliez," He begins, hand raised to beckon attention, albeit restrained at the elbow so as to avoid a full display of gathering attention. "We have been stationed opposite one another in this tournament. I . . . mean no harm."

A turquoise tuft and rambunctious affinity for non-sequiturs and entertainment -- gel it back, toss in a scoff, deepen the young man's locks with indigo, and it'd be as if he wasn't without Lex at all. They'd be dallying in festivities and sweets and carnival games as if the world hadn't been reaped asunder.

A sheepish smile blushes against his visage, and the young Velthomer shakes his head, dismissing the thought ( -- a tragic thought, really. )

"I . . . well, I didn't mean to get lost there for a moment. You just remind me of a good friend of mine."

It takes Caspar a moment to realize he's being addressed—when 'Sir' fell from the fellow's lips, the boy had twisted around to see what sort of knight or landed noble must be standing behind him. Then the full syllables of Bergliez hit his ears, and he realizes his mistake. Unless a family member decided to make an unexpected visit, there's only one Bergliez on campus, after all. He greets his fellow student with wide eyes and a wider grin.

"Oh, wow, I don't think I've ever gotten that one before! I'm flattered, but you can just call me Caspar."

A curled fist jabs a thumb upward, both a gesture of approval and a guide back toward his bright, energetic expression, just to really cement the name-face connection.

"I may not know you as well as the person you're thinking of, but you can count me as a friend too if you'd like. We're classmates, right? Your name was........Arv.....no, hold on."

His hand rubs at the back of his neck now, urging his memory to reignite with the friction.

"Gah, sorry. Do you study magic, maybe? I'm not in a lot of those classes."

[goldoanheart]

Scum Archbishop’s Imposter Plan

Saint Seiros has come to town! Yep, you heard right. While Garreg Mach’s seen its fair share of impostors in the past, none so far have had the gall to impersonate the church’s founder herself. Whoever this lady is, she at the very least looks and sounds the part - she bears a striking beauty beyond words, and a commanding presence to go along with it. Is she here to stage a coup? Or maybe she’s just after the church-sanctioned taxes… Whatever the case, you need to land this broad and her impressively large following in jail like right this second. [Grants Faith +1]

starter for @fjalarspark

Kurth startled from his desk with the commotion of a few other teachers, running outside to see what they were all going on about. Much to his own surprise, there seemed to be Saint Seiros...? Standing in the middle of the courtyard. No wonder the other faculty were all abuzz. Why, he would be quite surprised as well if he was an active member of the church. It would be like having one of the goddesses show up in his hou- wait. Oh never mind, the metaphor was already past him. He sighed, turning to head back into his office, nearly slamming right into poor Azelle as he did.

“Ah, hello little one. Did you also come out here to see what all the buzz was about?”

[saionofvalflame]

❀ scionic sparks | + azelle

Saias can’t help the little twirl as he gazes around the ballroom, signet ring on finger and stamp card in hand. Whenever he imagined attending a ball, he always thought of glittering dresses, tasty food, and couples dancing the night away... and this is everything he imagined and then some. He hadn’t expected the photo-artifexes, but they look like a lot of fun! Maybe he’ll try one of them out later. For now, he searches for someone to stamp his card, someone he hasn’t yet had the chance to meet.

A flash of familiar red amongst the crowd catches his eye, and he slips through the different people milling about, heading towards the red-haired man. He’s just opened his mouth to call out “Father!” when he takes a closer look at the man decked in red and white before him. Although the coloring looks the same, the man’s hair is too short and straight for Father. Saias reddens in embarrassment at having mistaken a stranger for his parent. Though... is it just him, or does the man look a bit familiar? That can’t be right, he would’ve remembered meeting him.

“Um... Excuse me, I was going to ask if you could stamp my card, it’s just... you look a lot like someone I know. Someone I’m related to, I mean. Sorry to presume, but do you know an Arvis of Velthomer?” the teen asks. “It’s all right if you don’t, I was just curious.”

starter for @fjalarspark​

[nagaficat]

Fambly Weunion

@fjalarspark

Deirdre hums as she walks into the Black Eagles classroom. She is early today but she does not mind. It is easy for her to lose herself day dreaming and that always helps her pass the time.

She has her pick of seats and decides on front and center. It does not feel intimidating being so close to the professor and it gives her the best view of the board for note taking. The door opens again and Deirdre turns to see who has joined her. The company is always welcome! To her surprise, it is a familiar face but not one she recognizes from her time in Fódlan.

"Lord Azelle! Is that truly you?" Grannvale's princess abandons her things to hurry to his side. His is a face she has not seen outside of portraits since that terrible day in Belhalla. Slowly, slowly her dear friends from her previous life have been finding their way back to her. "Does Lord Arvis know? Oh I cannot wait to see how happy he will be!"

[atypicalsenerio]

Round 1- White Heron Cup

Dancing with @aethertine

Style: 4

Choreography: 7

Technique: 5

Total: 16

It honestly went better than Soren was expecting. Neither of them were experts, yet they somehow moved mostly in sync. Crimea’s traditional dance was too strenuous for Soren to attempt, so they tried a ballroom dance, swaying and stepping generally in time.

Soren mostly had eyes for Ike rather than the competition anyway.

“Apologies,” he muttered, stepping on Ike’s foot. They lasted their entire song, but Soren was eager to flee the stage and enjoy the rest of the night elsewhere.

When the judges held their signs up, Soren openly scowled at the one holding the 4. The sign wavered in the air from the intensity of his glare and the judge glanced away.

“Hm. It’s just fine with me that nobles can’t appreciate our styles. It doesn’t matter to me anyway.”

@fjalarspark and @renegadeofmacedon

[odsfinest]

The dark hair of Isaach had lured him in, curiosity perhaps his bane, but Azelle had to know. Had Belhalla's ill fate befallen the youngster? Surely not; Azelle could not recall seeing young Shannan there. He'd disappeared under Lord Sigurd's orders, when the man had tried to clear his name. From the eyes to the hair, from the poise to the posture, he'd been reminded of an ally he'd met…well, seen, during his travels with Lord Sigurd. If this was the same young prince…

"Hello there," Azelle greeted, waving to make himself known...a little awkward, but certainly not so much as he had been once upon a time. "You seemed to me familiar. I was wondering if I could get your name?"

He slipped on his ring and revealed his stamp card.

"In recompense, we can exchange stamps!"

Od's blood bestowed Shannan with hefty growth spurt. Far taller, far broader, and this air of confidence that the young prince did not have upon Azelle's first meeting with the Isaachian. But time caught up to everyone at some point, and now Shannan stood taller than Azelle!

Oh. Stamps. That's something the swordsman should've been more concerned about. A dance competition was simply not something he found himself caring for. He just got here, not enough time to worry about proving something with his dancing.

"Hmm? Oh," initially confused, the question is seemingly answered. That hair, that face, that attire. Velthomer without a doubt. Yet hating Azelle did nothing. In fact, this face looks familiar too, in a good way. "I am Shannan. King of Isaach. You are from Velthomer, yes? I... recognize you, but do not recall your name." Carefully, a neatly folded card is revealed from those purple robes, and passed to Azelle, through, his index and middle finger. "Do you need a stamp as well?"

[nagargent]

[ Jump ] - For the photo, the sender and receiver try to time their jump so that the photo-artifex captures them in mid-air. Might take a few tries…

[ Laugh ] - Laughing makes for a natural smile, and so the sender tries to make the receiver laugh for the photo.

"You'd like to take a picture with me, Uncle?" There are very few people Julia would refuse to oblige, not for something so small. There’s a lilt to her voice though, a childish glee and excitement reserved just for him. Julia claps her hands together, beaming at him. “Let’s do a funny pose or pull faces or something. Oh, we should jump just before the machine clicks!”

Julia crouches in front of the lens, hand in Azelle’s. Grinning, her eyes sparkle with delight as she whispers, “On the count of three. One... two...”

“Three!”

The pair leap into the air, Julia poking her tongue out mischievously. The machine catches them in the air. When the pick up their photos, she pouts slightly. They’re... kind of blurry. It’s still obviously the pair of them though and both of them look delighted. She’ll treasure it for the rest of her life, a memento of her uncle’s adorable, crooked smile. (Even if it’s a little hard to make out!)

“Can we go show Papa? I bet he’d like to keep a copy too.”

[ladyleonster]

“Lady Ethlyn !”

He hadn’t . . . thought she would be departing her chambers the moment he’d mustered the courage to impart her gift to her ( — to leave it on her doorstep, more accurately, and leave only his name on a festive card as any indication of who departed the gift to her and then fled the scene. )

“I . . . wanted to honor our camaraderie that we shared beneath your Lord Brother’s banner. I’d be in a worse shape without your clerical graces.”

He offers them both to her: a blush-pink and charming bouquet of youthful, chivalrous Daffodils and soft pink Hyacinths — a homage to her chivalry and mischievous character — and a decorative bag of pale pinks. Within, a knightly tale native to Fodlan — a commemorative collectible that, between his affinity for lore and her knightlihood, he hoped would represent the friendship between them in a way his words could never manage.

“Happy birthday.”

She can see the surprise on his face, the way he's slightly crouched down. He was going to just leave it and run, wasn't he? Not on her watch.

Ethlyn grins as she reaches for the thoughtful gift. The flowers are gorgeous. Quan had made sure the outside of their room was fully decorated but now she has some cheer to bring inside as well. And she peeks inside the bag and her grin widens.

"A book? If it's from you, I know it has to be good!" She'd trust no one more than Azelle to pick out a fantastic read. She doesn't think she knows anyone as avid a reader as him.

"Now get over here and let me give you a hug before you run off!"