#illeoneardito

[braveryinblue]

🎨

[ art meme ]

roy hears a random Aggro Ping in the distance...

[princessmacedon]

"Pardon me..." She is the one he had heard earlier, right? At any rate, Roy calls out to her as he approaches; he tries to smile, but it is admittedly a little hard to do so, and the noticeable limp in his step likely makes it quite clear why.

"Lady Maria, was it? I apologize that this is how we meet," he continues with a brief, sheepish chuckle. The rumored savior of Elibe and heir to Pherae in all his glory, everyone. "I probably should not have tried to dance, knowing how bad I am at it. I'm very sorry... but do you happen to have a healing spell on you? I could, um, offer my stamp in exchange."

"Oh!" A flurry of steps rings out in staccato notes as Maria hastens to Roy's side, hands worriedly held in front of her to impress her point. "Please, don't move! I can come to you!"

So she does, and even as her hair flutters about her shoulders while she turns her eyes towards his injury, the little cleric flashes him a sweet and comfortable smile. "You can just call me Maria," she replies, a soft laugh punctuating the thought. "I'd be happy if you did!" Oh, that is quite a nasty sprain, isn't it? Time and again, the use of magic without tomes or staves proves wonderfully useful, and she hums softly as a tiny circle forms at her fingertips. Its gentle glow shines for but a moment, and when it fades, it is her effusive grin that is left behind for him.

"There! All better!" She laughs another laugh, and it rings clear. "There's nothing wrong with dancing! If you want to, then you should! But if you're worried, you could try again with a slower one? But even if you don't, if you sprain your ankle again, I'll gladly come and find you, hee hee.

"And I'd love to trade stamps! But not as a sorry, okay?" The line of her lips draws into a wide, reassuring smile as she holds her card by its corner. "Instead, let's say... I'm really happy to meet you!"

[braveryinblue]

Lords and Lions

Garreg Mach, as always, is trending ahead of the curve! The latest fashion to sweep the grounds… magical bubble shields! Never mind that they’re unwieldy - they’re the ultimate form of chic and protection from all harm. In fact, rumor has it the inventor is handing out a reward to any who can prove they’ve damaged the spheres. [Grants Heavy Armor +1]

starter for @illeoneardito !

Hector can’t wrap his head around it. The more he stares at it, the deeper the perplexed furrow in his brow inches, and the grip of his fingers on his arms - the likes of which are crossed disapprovingly across his chest - grows all the stiffer. There’s just no way this tiny little thing offers any measure of protection. Armads would shatter it like so much glass--

hell, even his trusty wolf beil would cleave it like a hot knife through butter.

“I don’t buy it,” he mumbles, to which the inventor parading his trinkets about is quick to yammer out a series of explanations: oh they grow much bigger, you see, enough to wrap about the entire upper half of a human. And truly, Hector is welcome to test its resilience out for himself! In fact, he’s encouraged to! You see, its magic is based off of blah blah blah de blah.

Hector’s tuned out long ago. There’s a prickling at the nape of his neck he can’t dismiss, the too-familiar sensation of eyes on his back. Brows still flexed in ever growing irritation, he whirls to face the newest thorn in his side,

and is taken aback. If briefly.

For a moment there, he thought his best friend had seen fit to join him in Fodlan... but no, though this whelp has all the hallmarks of a certain Pheraen noble family Hector knows well, he’s certain he’s never come across this lad before. But then why’s his face sparking such aggravation...?

“Got somethin’ on my face?” he barks in question. “If not, then stop boring holes into the back of my noggin’ yeah? Got enough of a headache as it is.”

[viridescent-lance]

"You seem a little nervous, sire. I take it such occasions are not usual to you?" Roy approaches the knight, a light smile on his face. "Still, I hope you are able to enjoy yourself. Have you danced yet?" He chuckles sheepishly. "I have and my ankle needed a healer afterwards, so I believe it's best if I stay back and rest for a moment..."

Forsyth is a bit jittery. It has been some time since his last formal event, and while he has gotten some experience, he is still a bit wet behind the ears when it comes to such things. Still, he tries his damnedest, mingling and socializing, though his stampbook goes untouched longer than he planned. He's got to get back on track; there are only so many hours in the night!

"Ah?" This observant young man carries an air of royalty. He's definitely favoring a leg; healing artes do not always cure all, or take immediate effect all at once. "I've danced a little, with some kind souls here. It is quite the ball, I will admit."

As he and the boy regard each other, Forsyth is struck with an idea. He fishes his stamp card out of his pocket, extending his ringed hand toward the youth. "While we're standing here, this might be a good idea?"

Immediately, Forsyth realizes several things. One, it could be seen as rude that he is asking an injured guest for a stamp without the conversation having taken the turn more naturally. Two, this was rather abrupt, and he should've controlled his impulses.

"...I am Sir Forsyth the True, of the Knights of Zofia, and now of Seiros." And third, perhaps most heinously, they hadn't even exchanged names yet. Forsyth has been admonished for rushing in without considering the full ramifications fairly regularly, but this...

[amitieos]

[ Whoops ] - While they dance, the sender trips over the receiver.

"M-My apologies, lady Elincia, my dancing skills leave a lot to be desireEEEGAH—"

Roy tumbles over her feet and all Elincia can do is try to catch him. Try, because she sadly fails. In fact, not only does Roy crash to the floor but she follows suit. They must look a right pair! She can’t help but burst into joyful fits of giggles as she tries to untangle their limbs and stand up.

“Are you hurt? If you are I’m so sorry for laughing--” Elincia says holding out her hand to help Roy to his feet. Perhaps his dancing skills really were as bad as he said. He deserved an A for effort though. “Maybe we should sit down somewhere and take a break? Enjoy some refreshments and laugh about this together. We can trade stamps too, if you’d like?”

[supportingdancer]

[ Dance ]

"I am, unfortunately, far from a skilled dancer, but hopefully for simply pretending, it should suffice..."

"Aww, don't say that! I betcha you're better than you think!" Silvia's voice is cheery as she tries to hype up the young lord's confidence. "I can show you some easy moves later! Lemme stamp your card so you remember!"

[ljosalir]

“ go, go! save yourself! i’ll buy you some time! “

settling dust

         “   hell no!   ”   sharena’s torn glove reaches out and closes immediately around the back of roy’s collar, tugging him back with a newfound strength; if only to keep him safe.  if only to prove that her sacrifice would mean something greater than that of a friends’.   “   if you’re not leaving, t-then i’m not leaving.  end of discussion!   ”

          but she’s bleeding profusely and the hand she has pressed over the wound is doing little to stop her body’s desire to push out what must be kept within.  she knows that she won’t be able to move much longer if she continues to push herself past her natural limit   —   zacharias was always so good at masking his pain.  a natural talent in secrecy, one that she doesn’t have.

          sharena releases her grip on roy and her knees threaten to give away but she keeps herself up.  just for this, just for roy.   (   reinforcement will never catch up to them, they’re too off course from the initial army’s path.  they have to wait, hold off until someone arrives.  optimism is awful to crack when your mind needs it most.   )

          fensalir gives a vibrant hum when her hand closes around it.  it’s enough to bring her back to her senses.  enough to stick a weak yet proud smile upon her lips and give it roy’s glance.   “   i can... trust that you’ll have my back, yeah?   ”   she’d have his, of course.  of course, she would.  leaving a friend behind to succumb to tension and wrath was never her way, and it never will be.   “   let’s hold the line down... we just need a minute.  alfonse will be here soon,   ”

          because he always came to save her.  but is she lying to the girl in her chest or the young man standing beside her, blade drawn and loyalty unsheathed?  what if optimism never won as often as she thought they did?  she hopes she’s wrong... if not for her, then for roy.

[arcstral]

[ SUPPORT ]:     the sender encourages the wounded receiver to lean against them for physical support.

          𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

No battle and no war shared the same reasons, yet they would always end the same way. A sweet potion of clarity and relief handed to the weary soldiers that still stood where others had fallen. As the pallor of an early autumnal morning came down in wan shafts, threading through the stratus clouds with a weak light but a bright and priceless hope, that fledgling warmth dug beneath the matte streaks of dirt on Marth’s cheeks and parted his lips like a promise of rain.

He closed his eyes into that feeling, an unmoving cask untouched by action or saturnalia. A statue. Survival often brought with it an appreciation for even the simplest privileges that defined life in a body- breathing, walking, standing, the clench of all ten retained fingers and toes, as well as the feeling of revelry that tomorrow even if unpromising and bleak, was still tomorrow. There was no room to doubt the price they’d paid because the conundrums of a moral man were wealthy freedom for another hour. Barely standing upright, they couldn’t yet afford to squander this one. Neither made any remark of the bodies that lined their way to safety.

“I’m sorry,” Marth grunted to him as they cleared the dead war zone and entered the copse, almost without explanation, but whatever complicated menagerie of reasons he nursed could be read well enough in his low-set brows. His quiet contrition. I’m sorry- for what- dragging Roy into this? A fight waged on foreign grounds to which neither definitively belonged? Most kings thought with their heads but Marth did it with his heart; he always would. It didn’t matter if it was an Archanean urchin dying in the streets or a Fòdlan one, a bandit plague here or one over there- all terrors on the population were his responsibility.

It didn’t matter if it wasn’t his fight. The ‘Hero-King’ made it his.

At Roy’s encouragement, he reluctantly leaned against the Elibean boy as they dragged themselves through the mud but stumbled along the way. His fall brought them down together, sputtering on his second apology. They still surfaced to their feet in twos to Marth’s soaring shame. “You aren’t uninjured yourself, yet you’re carrying my feet as well as yours.”

The hang of his hair tickled the bridge of his nose, then the bone of Roy’s shoulder as he slumped. The flow of blood quickened through the gaps between his fingers yet to congeal. “ I can pick myself up after I’ve recovered my strength, Roy,” he lied. “Don’t hesitate to leave me behind.”

Roy never did.