#julius support

[avemaera]

Julius can do nothing but stare for some time. His father's presence around the monastery has ceased to surprise him, and indeed he had expected to find him in the ballroom at some point. He had imagined, too, that he would be wearing one of the suits he had been painted in for his portraits around the palace, and he would grace the hall with the regality and poise Julius had always admired in those very paintings. What he finds instead baffles him to the point of transfixion - the revered Emperor whose face he had grown accustomed to seeing, now bruised and bloodied, resembled the broken man he had despised.

He retreats deeper into the crowd as the man stalks past his hiding place, eyes still following, uncertain of what to do with or how to name the tumult that's started in his chest. He can smell the metallic tang of blood on the breeze, and his feet make his decision for him: he pursues it.

"You can't outrun the future," Julius says coldly as he approaches his father from behind, certain that it wouldn't take him much guesswork to realize who he is behind the gilded mask. Disappointment spills out faster than anything else trapped inside. "But at least defend yourself."

With all eyes on him, Arvis had tried to remain relatively composed, but storming away from the scene now only elicited a push and pull in his soul.

His nights were regularly wracked with guilt and nightmares, but it seemed that for the first time in a long, long while, Arvis felt as though there was hope in his future. That he wasn't on the edge of isolation once again.

But ghosts of future and past found him again and again in this land. Demands for atonement were no longer limited to his nightly hours. They found him in the light of day, and under ballroom lights.

His steps wavered between slow paces and quickened stomps before a call draws his attention from behind.

A demon, of sorts. At first he almost seems like an echo of his own thoughts. But the boy's stature, his voice, his hair; the same shade of his own, the same shade he had passed down.

Behind that mask is the brand Arvis had also passed down. The very reason he began down this path in the beginning.

The embers in his heart that sparked as Seliph struck him burn to life. Blazing with a white hot heat they had not since Belhalla. He had done this for every fate branded by oppression. Who would he be if he walked away from that?

If the traitors wished to call him enemy so badly, he would wear the title with pride.

Arvis stands tall, his anemic spirit resolute once more.

"I don't intend to stand down from my ideals any longer."

[verseandrhyme]

scribes and the pharisees

@disgracedvessel | sword +1

The time and effort that one has in life is a finite resource, often granting great importance to those things that one chose to spend them doing. Mitama was a person who found far more importance in memorializing the moments of beauty that could be found in one’s life than writing down theories and arguments that had been stated before and will be stated again just to convince a professor she was capable at a skill.

Sadly on this night, she could not sleep, and so she decided that if she must be kept awake, she might as well complete that assignment. It was far easier to drudge up the needlessly dull wording when the library was empty in the dark of the night anyways. With that task complete, it should have been an easy thing to simply collect her work, return to her room, and hand it in as needed.

Nighttime thievery / a walking suit of metal / volcano wakens.

Though her body protested such a fierce chase after being knocked over by what felt like a cannon, Mitama had no choice. She rose to found her work missing, and she did not waste all that time actually working on something for it to be ripped away like it was nothing.

Though Mitama had seen little of her assailant aside from the undeniable sound of armor clanking through the hall, pursuit was not difficult. The halls were empty this late at night, and there was only so many directions one could take. So long as the suit of armor was not able to make its way through walls, she was sure to be able to catch it.

Upon rounding a corner, Mitama was thankfully given a short chase. An unfamiliar red head of hair leaned over a fallen suit of armor, inspecting it carefully. Mitama’s first thought of another victim was quickly vanquished with a look around, spotting a familiar stack of papers just nearby.

Ah, the puppet master then.

Gritting her teeth, the darkened hallways was filled with a quick flash of light as her spell collided harmlessly with the brick wall. A warning shot, quickly emphasized by her hand alighting again with another spell threateningly. She was in no mood for games this night.

“I will spare us both an unpleasant encounter. Return my stolen work, and I will not ensure that your soul faces every possible curse that I am able to call upon it.”

[lionerrant]

Balls to the Walls

See, now  balls could go one of two ways. They could either be very boring, with everyone being stiff and uptight and proper with their “good to see you”s and “how do you do”s. Or they could be fun, with people letting loose a bit  and chatting each other up and not plotting a million ways to take each other down behind their back.

Sylvain wasn’t tooo familiar with the second kind, but he could try.

The monastery had sent him here as a representative, and he fully intended to play his part like a good little student. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun alongside that. 

Almost immediately after arriving to the ball, he’d given the other...student? he’d been paired with the slip. Nothing personal against him, though he’d been a bit of a brat the entire time they’d been travelling. Sylvain just didn’t plan on being some guy’s babysitter tonight. He was old enough to take care of himself, and if he had any harsh feelings about getting ditched, well. Syvalin could always just smooth that out later.

For now, he was fully focused on the lovely pair of ladies he’d found himself in the company of. They were pretty enough, though Sylvain couldn’t say that the conversation so far had been particularly interesting. Still, he smiled and flirted along, nodding at all the right places and laughing when he was supposed to.

“Hmm? Oh, no, I’m here all on my lonesome, actually. It’s really a shame, I’d been thinking how nice it’d be to have someone to spend the evening with. You two fine ladies wouldn’t happen to know anyone who was feeling lonely, would you?”

@disgracedvessel

[avemaera]

@disgracedvessel

Julius instinctively steps back with one foot, all muscles tensed and poised to run, his eyes wide and unblinking at the phantom that addresses him now. It’s all he can do to hold some semblance of control over his expression, to manage something like impassive wonder rather than the terror that’s started his heart thundering in his ears. He shouldn’t be alive. And not like this. Julius would sooner believe that he had fallen asleep somewhere and brought to life one of the portraits he remembered adorning the walls in the Velthomer manor than that he now stood before the ghost of a dead man.

A beat passes before Julius’ mind catches up. Vaguely he realizes that he’s been asked a question, and denial is his first instinct. Whatever this man had heard, it wasn’t true. He hesitates though.

“You look just like my late father,” he says instead, expression hardening as he shakes away the surprise that had paralyzed him. “That’s all.”

Late father

Even as unlikely as the case may be, Arvis is still momentarily convinced that he must surely be this late father. It defies all reason, but he cannot help but think it is true. But sense worms its way back to him...

His own father was famously a philanderer, and the boy looked like he could be about Azelle’s age. Yet he bore Loptous’ mark... could his mother have run off with a brother he had never known? But still, Arvis can not deny this feeling that it is more than that, and he can not stand the thought of not knowing.

He thinks to ask if Duke Victor of Velthomer is his father.

But then decides against it.

“And what is the name of your father?”

[avemaera]

By now, Julius should have learned that the monastery was a dangerous place. He should have kept his head down and spent the remainder of his school days in the underground city of Abyss, where no one would find him. But he thought himself invincible - no adversary from the past could kill him within these walls without inciting the ire of the peaceful town itself. It was not death that he should have feared though.

"F-Father...?" Near-voiceless, he's awestruck and frozen where he stands. The man of his memories had been bent and haggard beneath the illusion of imposing robes and armor, and dark half-moons had been ever-present beneath exhausted, distant eyes. Julius had reviled his decrepit weakness, and pitied the way he had been made to dance endlessly for Manfroy, but here he is as if reborn. Had it not been for the brand that marks his forehead, Julius would have mistaken the sight for a mirror. This is his father - he has no doubt about it.

A dozen jumbled thoughts swim uselessly in his mind. Anger, revulsion, fear, shock, grief, and a rare shade of joy mix like a palette of paint into indiscernible grey, so all he can do is stare with mouth agape until the vision passes.

The stone walls of Garreg Mach echoed and reverberated even the smallest sounds within their halls. A pin could fall and every connecting room would know of it. So it is the whisper of a single word and the feeling of a presence behind him that has Arvis turns to face the one he shares this corridor with.

It is a vision of himself. Blood red hair and sharp crimson eyes, and unmistakably, the same brand that stained his flesh, now brazen upon his brow. It is then that the neurons in his mind connect enough to make sense of what he heard.

'Father.'

Father... Arvis doesn't know when or where he could have fathered a child, (had Aida hidden this from him? She had plenty reason to perhaps.) but this boy was undeniably his own. This wasn't a vision of himself, it was a vision of all his failings.

Arvis cautiously approaches, not wanting to frighten the boy anymore than he already seemed. "Father?" He confirms. "You called me 'father?'"

[artificidel]

blood tea and red string // julius & ephidel

Reason and Faith band together to put on this month’s special seminar: the history of tasseomancy! You will be learning the “magic” behind divination and how the old masters used the remains of tea leaves and coffee grounds to predict future events. Just in time for the moon of love, you will all be divining your romantic futures from a delicious cup of white rose tea. [Grants Reason or Faith +1]

@disgracedvessel

Precognition and divination are real; Ephidel knows this well. He was advised of as much when he was to capture the dragon children. ‘They may sense you coming,’ Lord Nergal explained, ‘but do not allow them to slip through your grasp.’

Not even foresight was able to stop the morph in his mission, so when he heard of a seminar to learn the art, he couldn’t help but be curious. Could he claim this skill for his own ends? He had to be sure, but as the lesson went on, Ephidel had his doubts.

The instructor insisted sipping the white rose tea was pertinent to synchronizing with the diviner, and while the morph could store it in his hollow and expel it later, he opted instead to watering the nearby bushes. Next was the swirling and identification of the loose leaf forms. They appeared to be nothing more than damp clusters of used flora. If Ephidel had to interpret their shapes, he might say they resembled a bloodied battlefield, gore and viscera strewn about the plains and creating a wellspring of quintessence.

‘My, that looks almost like a field of flowers, Lord Deacon.’ The instructor hummed over Ephidel’s shoulder. His attention snapped up to her immediately. ‘If I were to interpret it, I would say as long as you keep your heart open, love and good fortune is in your future.’

This seminar was definitely a farce.

A hand is placed upon his shoulder, and the instructor smiles widely at him. ‘You never know, the love of your life could be right behind you!’

[verseandrhyme]

“Come here.” Julius grabs Mitama by the wrist as she passes by, neither waiting for an answer nor heeding her protests until he’s dragged her into the odd little box behind him. The “artifex-box,” or whatever the projectionist had called it. It’s brighter on the inside than he had expected it to be, and he drops his cumbersome mask at his feet as he settles down on the hard bench - at first in the center, before remembering Mitama and shifting into the corner to give her what little space was left. His fingers are still coiled around her wrist, apparently forgotten as he leans forward to examine the strange contraption that makes up the front panel of the box.

“It’s supposed to produce more of those instant portraits…” he mutters half to himself, brow furrowed. He hadn’t considered asking the projectionist for help, of course; the demonstration that had piqued his interest had been enough. Gloved fingers poke and prod until—

“Oh!” The box lights up with a flash. Julius blinks away the stars in his eyes, then turns a grin on Mitama.

“Pose, now. I can’t have you making me look bad. It’s the least you can do for the privilege of being hand-selected by yours truly.”

Mitama yelps as she suddenly comes to a lurching stop. The hand around her wrist does not relent, tugging her the opposite direction she had been walking in to pull her along towards the strange box. Did no one at this function have any sense of manners? Twice now she had been abruptly grabbed and stopped...Mitama huffs with annoyance.

"Will you-" The familiar red prompts an idea of exactly who it is, but Mitama bites her tongue. The ridiculous mask he wears, for once, seems opposite his usual desire to grab attention.

Only upon entering the box is the gaudy masked removed. Mitama huffs as she tugs the curtain shut behind her. Julius seems to realize the lack of space he has left her before she need fix him with a look, and Mitama flops into the seat ungracefully.

He is still holding her wrist.

Mitama glares at his hand while he fiddles with the magic necessary to make the device work. "You could have just asked if you wished for a photograph." She grumbles. She does not bother trying to yank her hand free. There is not enough space to put up a proper fight, and she does not want to hear whatever deluded remarks he might make when he realizes.

There is a sudden flash that causes Mitama to wince and lean back. She blinks rapidly as she tries to clear her vision. Her stars remain, of course.

"You are so obnoxiously demanding for someone who had to quiet literally drag me in here." She complains. Still, she straightens her posture and scoots better into the box's framing as she poses for the photo. "It is hardly my fault that I am in high demand."

Another flash, and just like that the picture is taken. Mitama quickly snatches up the outputted photo before he can take it and leans out of his reach as she inspects it. She looks good, if only slightly ruffled from the rough treatment. Good. "Well look at that, you actually look presentable."

[verseandrhyme]

This can only go well

Hours after the competition has come to an end, Mitama finds herself approached while sitting in the dining hall. She tenses, but no spell descends on her, nor is she grabbed and dragged away. Rather, Blake leans over her with a casual smile as he slides a tightly bound roll of leather into her hands.

"The spoils for an admirable effort earlier," he says with a smile. "Tradition has it only the winner of these impromptu games receives it, but..."

He pauses a moment, then seems to reconsider.  "Some traditions are meant to be broken. Anyhow, enjoy!"

The prize for the competition...Mitama frowns, confused why he would be passing this onto her when he had rightly won it. There is little time for questioning though. Even before she can drag the words into order to ask on it, someone else calls his name and the mage is gone once more.

Mitama stares after him for a moment before looking to the “prize”. Unfurling it reveals a map embedded inside the leather. Baths is printed neatly at the top, which makes Mitama frown in confusion. Why would they need maps to find the baths in their own school? Unless...in the pocket, she finds a small key. A secret of some kind...perhaps for special privileges, or simply no longer widely used?

Whatever the case, Mitama quickly rolls the map back up and tucks it away before rejoining with the group from the academy that evening. Information is quickly exchanged, the little things they have all learned shared. Mitama does not need their opinions to know that she will be pursuing it regardless of what is advised or whether or not the others intend to accompany.

She need not run the risk of tempting whatever assailant awaits them, it seems. Mitama glances up and frowns as Julius joins her. “You know, I really do not know why I did not anticipate you shadowing me when I announced I would be going off following a mysterious map.” She sighs. Ah well. Any company in this case is better than none. “If we get assaulted and you leave me, I will haunt you.”

@disgracedvessel