#hlidskjlf

[disgracedvessel]

The Chase [Julius & Veronica]

@hlidskjlf | continued from here

“Then why are you here?” The question slips out without any of the frills or niceties to dull the edge, and Julius lifts one brow in disbelief. She’s like one of the stray cats he’d see around the castle grounds in Belhalla. A little grey thing that would creep around the market stalls where all the people were, but hiss and swat at anyone who came too close. Not even fish would appease it, just as the offering of candy - no matter how unpleasant Julius thought the mint to be - didn’t seem to satisfy this student.

That never stopped Julius from chasing it when he was younger though. It kept coming back anyway.

“You’re not going to win anyone over if you spend the night cowering in the corner. You’re supposed to prove that you’re a good little noble who knows how to network.” He looks her over, folding his arms across his chest to show that he could be just as stubborn as she was, if not more so. He pulls his list of engagements from his pocket and lifts it with two fingers. “Winning a signature from the prince of the Grannvalean Empire ought to impress your family.” He smirks. “I’ll give it to you, but only if you amuse me first. If you decline, I’ll simply spend the whole night right here.”

[alfvangr]

The gift is a drastic breakaway from their usual silence.

It strikes like the tempest— the neatly wrapped package pressed firmly into the prince's hands with the sureness of a lightning bolt. Were he to open its light blue paper, he would find himself greeted with a note, a pendant, and (strangely) a fragmented piece of a lance. Veronica's voice quivers as she quietly manages to say a few words.

"The pendant is my gift. The bit of lance and the note is... from an old friend of yours. Forgive him, he says— he's still a bit... hesitant."

She promptly turns to leave, but not without facing him, crooking her head his way and nodding.

"...Happy birthday. I—" Veronica's voice wavers, "—We wish you many more..."

     If asked, Alfonse would admit he had intended to keep quiet about it.

     The wrapped box is pressed into his hands with an insistence that leaves no room for protest, though, and a moment of hesitation passes ( because isn’t it improper to open a gift right in front of the person who had given it? ) before he carefully pries the paper apart to look inside. Cerulean irises linger on the lance fragment until Veronica speaks, lifting to meet crimson as she answers the unspoken question reflected in his expression.

     From an old friend. The words repeat themselves in his mind like an echo; if he weren’t so practiced at controlling his tears, he thinks he might have shed them on the spot. His eyes remain dry though, fondness bleeding through as the upwards curve of his mouth and the lowering of his gaze back down to the items gifted to him instead. Forgive him, he says—as if he needs to beg for forgiveness in the first place. As if Alfonse would do anything but forgive him for all his perceived wrongs.

     He’ll forgive him as many times as it takes until the gulf swallowing the distance between them can finally recede.

     Cradling the box in his arms as if it is the most fragile thing he has ever held, Alfonse looks to Veronica once more with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Both of you. I’ll cherish it.”

[arcstral]

[ lift ]

LIFT:   for your muse to give mine a hand stepping up or over something etc..

               Take care where you step, warns their better informed guide on a route to the other side. A treacherous path hewn harshly through a rock face, as if by the graceless hacks of a giant’s axe. The incline is steep with little for a foothold and Marth has fared better. Hoped for much better, too, but he cannot complain with any sound conscience. Not when there is such an admirable companion weathering the same shortly at his hind.

             Young Veronica meets the party’s strides with such grit and determination; as if solidly declaring, with a proud jut of her chin, that she will not dare to be left behind. What a fiery queen she will one day make! It paints his face with a smile between the sweat as the heights pull them to the peak—but it is unwise to leave her alone to her pride. So he turns, silhouetted by the glare of a sun and reaches down with gloved fingers. Offering, soon enclosing, around a soft royal hand to tug onto the next cleft of stone.

            “  It is fine to rely upon me, Veronica,  “   he says helpfully without judgement after pulling the girl high, then holding his grip until her feet ground with greater stability. He lowers his attention upon her, eyes honest and gentle, a mystery of a gaze as if he might give her anything—as if he had not already done so, once. 

              “  One shall always have the aid of a friend, and that is surely what we are! I would not leave you in your hour of need. Now, trust in me—and watch your step. “

[verseandrhyme]

💭(pretend this is from flayn shhhhh)

Send a ‘💭’ to learn what my muse thinks of yours.

Shades of green in ever constant movement. A sweet voice that traps and ensnares and draws one in. Ever undying faith.

Mitama wonders how it feels to so blatantly play a mouthpiece.

The thought, perhaps, is unfair. If Flayn should find comfort in devotion to something that clearly has its own intentions in mind, then Mitama is not one to judge. Some may argue that the Goddess is no different from the dragons of dawn or dusk, and while Mitama is certain she could debate that topic for hours (intervention vs. freedom, imposing vs. absent), it is not her place to try and convince any of her gracious hosts of anything. Still...

Flayn is polite and kind and has given Mitama no reason to suspect anything. She speaks as though playing a part poorly, and while Mitama has no reason to pry or call attention to it, it does catch her attention when there is a stumble in the script.

Flayn looks to Seteth with such familial care and love, speaking words that Mitama hears faint echoes of in her own voice in the back of her head and it makes her fists clench, skin tight, it’s so unfair, why can’t her own father-

Flayn makes Mitama...uneasy. For which of the many reasons she can think of, she is not sure. She would not bring it up though, of course. Flayn is not the one responsible for Mitama’s own perception.

[ashenprofessor]

💭hello boel bestie 😌

Ah yes Veronica. Byleth remembered her very well. It had definitely made for an interesting start to her BOEL experience. Although Byleth had scrapped through it had been a close call. Byleth is unlikely to forget the burn of Veronica’s spells and the sharp taunts thrown her way. It was almost as though the woman had taken pleasure in seeing Byleth squirm. 

Hate is too strong a word for Byleth’s thoughts towards the mage but she holds a certain animosity towards her. She will keep training so that their next battle is more in her favour. 

[disgracedvessel]

"Wow, how original. A little royal brat cursed with an evil dragon's blood? Boo. At least some of us got our games localized."

I AM THE BLUEPRINT.

[verseandrhyme]

( 💢 your muse collides with mine )

"—hyunrgh!"

A flash of pink, a blow to her torso— the sound wrung from Veronica's mouth as she is violently introduced with another student is less than graceful, to say the least, but at least she didn't hiss out any violent profanities. Crimson blinks, feet make an attempt to steady themselves once more.

The crease of Veronica's brows run deep, but she's honestly more humiliated than annoyed. She smoothens her dress with a huff.

"Hm..." she struggles to stay civil, "let's be... careful next time."

The other’s exclamation is met in chorus with a grunt of Mitama’s own. The expression is less from pain and more from surprise. Her hand flies to her side all the same, pressing against the sore flesh to ease the ache. Surely it will not bruise, but Mitama’s gaze drops instinctively to it before moving to the other.

She does not recognize her, but can clearly read displeasure in every line of her expression. Understandable, though Mitama’s own response is slow as the girl seems to struggle to deliver any kind of response.

“Apologies, of course. One would hope for more elegance at an event that demanded it.” Clearly the other was in no mood to apologize.

Mitama pulls out her ring and gestures towards the other. “A stamp then? As a physical olive branch?”

[alfvangr]

"...Alfonse." Veronica shuffles over to the prince, crimson gaze drowning him in a healthy dose of scrutiny. Though their groups had scant time to consort with one another, the girl finds she ought to address some things anyways. "The drinking game. You're hiding yourself; what for?" Her arms cross, fingernails digging into the flesh of her forearm. The headpiece rested atop her hair trembles as she shakes her head. "Nevermind that. Just... stay alive for now. But know that I want an answer."

     It was only a matter of time before he would find himself subjected to this particular conversation, given the sequence of events leading up to it. Veronica had not meant to carelessly reveal his royal title during that ill-fated game; he only has himself to blame for neglecting to inform her prior despite the passage of weeks since her sudden appearance at the academy. Admittedly, part of it had had to do with respecting the Emblian princess’s boundaries—he is well aware she cares little for his presence in most instances, even with their tentative non-hostile acquaintanceship.

     She changes her mind before he can speak, though, toeing the line between requesting and ordering him to remain alive for her to extract an answer at a later time. Faint surprise colors Alfonse’s expression, in no small part because she had spent a rather long time seeking his death for standing in her path time and time again. Funny how circumstances could change so drastically, given the chance to.

     “...I understand. When we’ve found a way out of here, I’ll tell you—you have my word.” A ghost of a smile briefly alights on royal features. “Though I expect you’ll be fine with allies like Siegbert at your side, I would ask that you take care to survive this trial as well.” He can’t very well explain himself to someone who isn’t there to hear it, after all.