#losojosdecupido

[carefreemonk]

[ from here ] @losojos-decupido

fogado nearly cries when he dips his foot into the warm water. instead of doing that, he tips his entire body inside, basking in the tender embrace of water that doesn't fall out of the sky and isn't freezing freaking cold. like, okay, look, rainstorms are not unique, fogado's been through enough to know how to deal. it's just that they make everything so much worse! looking out at the rough seas, he almost turns green; never ever EVER is he going NEAR a boat until that entire mess dies down. there isn't enough money in the world to change his mind. but this water... now this is nice water. it's warm, it's inside, it's in a fancy room, and he can even press a button to make bubbles. oh man is mom gonna hear about this. he should probably ask this viscount dude who he hired! at some point, a rubber duck ends up on his head. life is peaceful. life is kind. and then. "oh!" fogado blinks his eyes open and looks over. he blinks again. oh. yeah, oh. oh fuck. because who should join him in this pool of peaceful pleasantries than the father of the woman whom he'd just completely beefed their single interaction with?! " azrrblgbg?!?! " fogado blurts with his face submerged. cool it. if that duck falls off, it could blow any semblance of "chill vibes," and then it would get worse. so he sits up only a little bit, drawing his chin out of the water. " err, yup! that's m'name! glad you remembered! " ohhhhhhhhh myyyyyyyyyyyy fawkinggggggggggg dragonsssssssssssssssssssssss. " mitama! yeah, she... went off to get some snacks, last i saw. she'd wanted to peruse the pickins, you know, ha ha... "

Quite a strong reaction for what Azama has intended, for once, as an innocent (?) question. Well, now Fogado's got him nice and curious.

"We shared quite the experience, did we not? Of course I'd remember your name."

Languid and quite comfortable, the monk yawns, stretches. The water runs hot - delightfully so. He sighs, and for a moment, he is at peace. In the next moment, however, he is potentially at war.

One starry eye cracks open, settling first on Fogado's duck, and then on the fellow himself.

"Oh? Off to get some snacks, is she?"

Oh, yes. That does sound about right for her. That being said, Azama doesn't recall coming across her on his way here, nor did it seem to him like Fogado was waiting around for anyone right about now, startled as he had been. Hm.

Hm, hm~

"And how long ago now was that?"

Straight and to the point.

"I wouldn't want to be interrupting... after all, you are her date for the Ball, are you not?"

[hermidetta]

" hiya, bernadetta! i brought you something! "

there are certain standards one must adhere to when choosing a gift for a friend, and among those things it is typically improper to source a gift from a looted store or from a dead guy. fogado knows these rules of etiquette, not to worry, dear reader.

this did, however, mean that it was very difficult to actually find a good gift to give bernadetta, the girl who he would like to know better yet isn't quite sure how to without spooking her. talking is his main mode of friendship---what does one do, then, when it is the direct opposite of another's? gifts are what he's got next, but again, the town brought slim pickings.

the idea had dawned on him upon returning to the bunker. it's... good enough, considering their situation. fogado approaches bernadetta with the item hidden behind his back. " it's nothing much, but i thought i'd whip something up for you. just 'cuz! "

his hands come out from behind his back to reveal a nicely sized rock with big ole eyes painted on it. " this is rockinald. he likes the color purple, quiet corners, and privacy. so he's, like, the perfect guy to just kind of chill with! " fogado winks and shows off rockinald's features---a flowing mane of white rocky hair (a result of the dust produced from scraping a rock against the ground), thick rocky eyelashes (using only the finest ink) and a quartz-y crystalline interior (accidentally shown off when fogado hit him too hard against the ground, but now it's part of the package).

" the best thing is that rockinald practices bein' a projectile in his free time. if anyone is bothering you, then yeet rockinald at 'em and he'll give them a stern talking-to! "

bernadetta would have counted herself lucky if she had been able to make even one friend at the officers academy. there are still people who talk, people who leer, because students in their formative years have an insatiable appetite for rumors and gossip. the sole daughter of house varley does not have a kind reputation.

that meant far less to those overseas, however. fogado is charismatic, that much is clear. just look at him—stars in his eyes, a dazzling grin and a silver tongue behind it. she is still almost suspicious just by the principle of it. what could the center of a room want to do with the very corner of it?

"oh— hi, fogado."  she answers, voice shrinking by the end of it. her eyes naturally avert—gray clouds that rightfully steer clear of stars—and they stay averted until fogado brings out the most unexpected item.

it's a rock.

rockinald?

bernadetta gives it a slow but no less bewildered blink. her palms accept it, or rather 'him', majestic white mane and all.

"uh... thanks?"  she doesn't mean for it to come out like a question. it just does. "h-hey, he sounds just like bernie."

maybe it isn't something she can cuddle to sleep (she could, she supposed, though it'd hardly be comfortable) but it also doesn't seem like fogado is making fun of her at all.

not to mention he is right on the money with rockinald making for a handy weapon. bernadetta needs those now more than ever, doesn't she? her thumbs grazed the cracked part of the rock, imperfect but no less endearing in its own way. maybe someday she could be like that, too.

"sorry,"  she mumbles again, head lightly ducked. those colorless eyes occasionally flick up at fogado through violet lashes.  "i don't have anything to give you. is it still really okay for me to have this?"

[hermidetta]

observing the [ ROW BOAT ]

there sits a rowboat among the many in use that has not been touched in quite a while. it has sat, rope attached to a support beam, for seemingly hours with very little movement. it's odd, seeing how popular the attraction is---why has nobody gone near it?

it could be due to the large flamingo sitting in it. rather, a flamingo pool float---it sits rather politely in the bow seat, eyes closed as though sleeping. a yet smaller flamingo sits next to him. aww, it's a family outing.

except... it's not.

because after a moment of admiring how beautiful nature is that two flamingos can sit in a rowboat, fogado rises up from his hidden spot in the boat, back completely smothered in dirty seawater. how long has he been there? why was he in there? is he being babysat by those flamingos? questions unanswered.

he looks over and sees a head of hair he hasn't encountered in a long time. he pauses, quietly considering whether to reach out or to just go back to his awesome sarcophagus impression... but one choice wins out over the other.

" hey, bernadetta! what'cha doin' over there? you havin' fun at the ball so far? "

bernadetta watches people, but she also watches plants and animals. or things that look like animals, apparently, because the boat in her line of vision is seemingly occupied by two toy birds as pink as can be, and she's never worn pink well (never worn anything well) but part of her has been tempted to slink over and poke it. maybe even take it, if no one's looking, and go cast herself into the ocean to let the waves drag her off like the hopeless social reject she is.

because, well, she is. she still hasn't really been able to enter the central venue herself, lingering on the outskirts and kicking sand out of her stupid ribboned slippers that went with her stupid ribboned dress.

she's stupid. she shouldn't have even showed up, not to mention she's showing way too much of her stupid skin. she can't pull any of it off the way all of her pretty and popular friends do, and...

...and she's getting too lost in her own head again. she needs to go dunk her head in the water. bernadetta doesn't get the chance, though, because just as she's stepping to the flamingo-manned boat, A BEACH ZOMBIE RISES HALFWAY OUT OF IT.  there are zombies at the beach.

bernadetta only screams a little bit. it's immediately punctuated by the slap of her palms across her mouth, muffling the curdling, high-pitched shrill until her head catches up with her heart. then the hands drop, and gray eyes make a few weary blinks before she's able to greet fogado back.

"um, hi, fogado. i thought you were a beach ghost."  that's it. maybe it's because both of them are half-dead, in kind terms. does that make them something like comrades or brethren in this moment? it could. if he wanted it to. but nobody wants bernie.

what tumbles out of her mouth surprises her.  "can i lie down, too? or float away on one of your birds. either. or both."

that's probably answer enough. but for good measure, because she's delirious enough to be a little oddly normal,  "not really. i'm not good with crowds, but i don't want to be a party pooper while my friends are having fun. what about you?"

[senerist]

♡ :bean:

○○○○○ | ATTRACTION ○○○○○ | AFFECTION ●●●○○ | INTEREST ○○○○○ | LOYALTY ○○○○○ | TRUST

“He's bit of an overactive child, if i must state my honest opinion.  He acts far too familiar with me.  i'm not particularly sure i want to know why that is, but it seems like knowledge i should have regardless.  Unfortunately, this one is given to keeping secrets.  Well, so am i.  Whatever he thinks he knows can't be much at all.”

[grimatruth]

[ 21 QUESTIONS ]

" yoo-hoo~! hey, are you havin' fun so far? "

fogado has taken some time away from his duties as faithful pastry-making watchman to go around and meet some partygoers he's missed. he skips over, big smile locked in and sneaky, sugar-covered hands folded behind his back.

" i'm fogado! i wanted to say thanks for comin' to my and thea's party! " he cheers, moving animatedly despite standing in place. " since i don't think i know a lot about you, i wanted tooooo ask a few questions! nothin' weird, nothin' crazy---just stuff like, hum, let's see...

" what's your favorite color? and hobby? oh! and, and, if you were stuck on a deserted island, what're three things you'd take with you... aside from food and water? "

after all his trials and tribulations, facing the many twists and turns of his hosts games... morgan was tired. were it possible, he'd encapsulate himself behind a defensive line of his friends, not leaving for the rest of the night.

since that was decidedly out of the question, the tactician instead walked the fringes of the party. only making a few stops in between to hydrate himself, or grab a few stacks to replenish his energy.

in the process of one of those pit stops, one of the gracious hosts catches him with cheeks stuffed full of chocolate. "Awg Mwnt Pwse" (that's one minute please). some furious chewing, and a hardy swallow later, the lad met the golden deer with a weary smile.

"so it was fogado... i'd been wondering, you see." he seemed to be a cheery fellow, almost too radiant to look directly at. it was no wonder he'd planned this with dorothea, they seemed a dazzling pair together. "the name's morgan, and yeah... uh, almost too much fun."

ah, suddenly the lad was overcome with a bout of deja vu, except he was on the other side. did this mean they were... crossing hands, as ferdinand had described it? tired though he was, there was never a chance for knowledge he'd turn down. if fogado were to ask him questions, then he would get some in return. it's only fair.

"firstly, it's purple! as you can see, i have a very solid amount of it on my person." hues of purple reminded him of plegia, and while it didn't harbor the most pleasant memories... it's where he and his mother came from.

"i enjoy light reading, and if i have the time, practical application of what i learn." even just the smell of an old book reminded him of long nights with his mother. she'd read long into the night, and morgan would helplessly pass out far before her. when he awoke, robin would be drooling on her wooden table, and he would be tucked cozily into her cot.

this question, however, left him stunted for a few moments, frowning in contemplation. "i guess... a tome, some paper, and a way to get the attention of anyone who might be sailing nearby." morgan had spent many a night in isolation, out in the damp forests afar. he could say with pinpoint accuracy that he would never want to find himself in such a situation again.

"since you've had your fun, fogado... i'll remind you that you now owe me three answers. i won't ask for them today, not even tomorrow... but i will return for them. i hope you enjoy the rest of your party."

@losojos-decupido

[senerist]

[ PORTRAIT ]

" embl--- i mean, soren! " fogado calls from across the way, quickly closing the gap with his cape fluttering behind him. " hey, hi! howdy! sorry i haven't been able to come talk to you---busy with this-and-that, y'know, host-y stuff. phew!

" but now that i'm here, i wanted to ask---there's portrait supplies over by the balloon decorations. can i, like, try to paint you?! " he flexes his fingers. they're dexterous little things, but are they good enough to paint using? who knows...? " i prommy i'll make you look so amazing that everyone will be like, ' who is THIS handsome and mysterious fellow?! ' and i'll be all, ' his name is soren and he's awesome. ' right? is that cool? can i? can i? can i? "

soren had hoped he wouldn't be approached by either of the hosts, but he's never been so lucky.

There is a disparity between them that he finds distasteful. Fogado cuts off a word, and soren doesn't need to stretch to think it's emblem. He appeared during that mistletoe fiasco, too, and he...

Regardless. soren has the sinking feeling that fogado knows something about him, or perhaps several somethings, that he's never disclosed to the young man. he does not like that.

The answer to his request would be a resounding no if not for this fact. A portrait of soren? he can't imagine anything more ridiculous, and it only reminds him of the royalty ruining his own blood. he feels too sick to feign consideration through taking a sip of his glass. he'll feel sick sitting for a portrait.

However, this is a good excuse to talk to him more, and find out how much fogado knows and how much soren doesn't want him to.

"Very well," he replies, stone-faced. "Though i must ask what's gotten you so interested in me particularly. i'm merely one of your professors, and you haven't signed up for any of my classes..."

[nobilisseoblige]

fogado makes himself comfortable on a mostly-dry rock near this orange-haired stranger, finding intrigue in the aura surrounding him. he's observed the way people interact with him and it's difficult to pinpoint exactly what kind of person he is, but if everyone's going to be stuck in This Freaky Ass Cave, then he might as well make some friends out of it.

" hey there, handsome, " he calls to them with a wave and an offering of water from a flask. " you thirsty? i haven't drank from this one yet if ya want it. "

"huh?"

was the first thing that erupted from his mouth—there was a hurricane and blood on the rocks, but his floral words felt like it was addressed to someone else. but with a flask cap popped open and it directed towards Ferdinand in particular, he guessed he was the handsome man of address? of course he was! "right, I am, but I also have a—" he held out his own flask, before grinning boyishly. "thank you kindly, friend."

bumping flasks, he toasted quietly to the young man with stars in his eyes and enough casual lightheartedness to cast them all to sea. there was a quiet clank, and an even quieter laugh that erupts from under his breath. "i can tell you're looking out for me. so… cheers."

"to you, to me, and the rest of us, under the stars, yes?"

"I am Ferdinand Von Aegir, by the by." what would be the right rapport for what was to come next? (should he comment on attraction when there are indecisive skies and the embrace of smoke ahead?)

(sure. why not.)

"your eyes are beautiful."

there's a sense of smoke to them, too. Ferdinand thought to himself: oh, he quite missed home.

[hermidetta]

[ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 ] ; a hiding spot...?

“ yyyyyoo-hoo! ”

fogado swings himself backwards so that his head hangs off the edge of some stacked-up crates, just narrowly avoiding the face of the new-friend-to-be he's about to chat up. he's eyed her here and there, studying her as he moved from class to class... but ultimately he'd found that perhaps the best way to get anything figured out was to just go talk to her.

he bases his approach off of interactions he's had with alcryst: they both seem equal in jumpiness and overall please-don't-look-at-me-i'll-cry vibes, so it should work the same, right? of course, no interaction can go without a little Fogado Magic, characterized here by his upside-down greeting posture. to this new person he salutes, pretty-boy smile on full fogado blast.

“ chilling by these boxes all by yourself? what a coincidence! ” fogado says, the situation not at all being a coincidence. “ i love chilling! if i had to rank it on a top-ten list of best things to do ever, 'chilling' would def be on there. ”

flipping himself right-side up, fogado cocks his head to the side. “ but i also think that there are better places to chill... like on a pretty field or something. somewhere where you can streeeeetch! get up n' run around if you feel like it! ” to underline his point, he jumps off the boxes and stretches so hard his back audibly cracks. from the face he makes, that wasn't intentional.

“ ...owch. uh, anyways, ” he coughs, but he doesn't even try to hide his smile at his own weird mess-up. “ my name's fogado! if it's okay, i'd like to show you some pretty neat places that're prime chillaxation stations. ” respecting her space a little more now, he keeps a pleasant distance and shoots her a wink and a snap. “ 'cause you deserve better than all this dirt n' whatever this is, ya know? so whaddya say? ”

* for you i would.

when a blur swings down in front of her and nearly meets her nose-to-nose, there are only a few things it could be. the first and timeless go-to of them is an assassin. it always starts with an assassin. since there is no knife plunged into her throat just yet, bernadetta's next assumption is that a very large spider has come to ruin her day.

it takes a special brand of self-restraint to keep her shriek contained—discipline, heart and fortitude. bernadetta has no such thing, but what she does have a mouthful of sweet bun trio that muffles the screech well enough that it does not carry across the monastery.

MMMMFFFGGFPPPHHHHFFFPPHGHGGPHPPPFFFFHHH!!!

her saving grace is the stack of crates behind her. without them to catch her, her back would have clobbered into the concrete and left more than one of them walking out of here with mild spine trauma. another dance with death is thwarted by bernadetta's own overbite, the chunks of bread in her cheeks far too large for the terror to funnel them down her windpipe—though it does take her a rickety, wheezing breath to swallow down the rest of her snack with the whistle of a tea kettle. her gangly arms and legs scramble backward as if she were the spider, pressed up against the crates with her bug-eyed stare.

but he's not a spider, either. no—this is a boy with stars in his eyes, and not the hackneyed sort she used to write pages and pages about in her stories. (it was a phase, okay? she's thrown just about all of her older work over an open flame, okay?) he's just a boy. he's like sunlight, and he wants to be friends. but why? bernadetta doesn't deserve anything but a brown paper bag over her head.

it's a trick. it has to be. get the ugly, creepy shut-in to fall for it, then laugh at her later with all your other pretty friends. she knows the game like an antelope knows arrows, and the only way to win is not to play it.

"'whatever this is'?"  she parrots this 'fogado', a wary frown curling her lip.  "what if— what if i like whatever this is! it's quiet, it's got shade, and nobody bothers me!"

nobody yells at her. nobody tells her she needs to do better. nobody finds the ammo to spread more rumors. it'd be better if she never existed to begin with, but maybe she can pretend long enough to make it a reality. keep your head down, bernie, and they'll give on you eventually. they'll forget! then you can live a quiet, hermit's life like you've always wanted. (it's what you've always wanted. it is!)

something claws at her chest. bernadetta clutches it with a fist. it tells her she's being rude, and paranoid, and unpleasant. always, always unpleasant. she wishes she weren't like this. something shaped like remorse knits her brows, and her mouth trembles open to apologize.

"i-is your... is your back... um, okay?"  she lamely mumbles instead. she can't meet his eyes, but he's dazzling and she can practically feel it radiating off his person. someone like him is bound to be popular, and while she still cannot fathom why he would waste any breath on her, there's no harm in trading names—especially when he has offered his in what could be good will. could.  "... bernadetta. i'm bernadetta."

and she likes pretty fields. that hook hadn't escaped her.  "why are you talking to me?"  the question comes out as such a stupid sounding blurt that bernadetta wants to jump into these crates and hope they get shipped away from all civilization. her hands wring each other in front of her as she babbles without pause,  "i mean, are you sure you have the right person? i don't think you have the right person. bernie's just not right at all, nope. never."