#ordelion

[ordelion]

An Excuse For Me To Write About Her Fancy Dress - Lysithea Open Starter

Lysithea sat in the warm candlelight of the expensive restaurant, tapping her blue heels in a mix of anticipation and annoyance. Her appearance was entirely unlike her day-to-day look, elegant and dainty like an old portrait. She had a teal bouffant dress that she had reluctantly been gifted upon the insistence of her friends, and two teal silk gloves that were slightly too large for her hands. A pair of hanging earrings with the Golden Deer emblem added a contrasting color to the mix, along with a large pearl hairpin that pierced a small bun tightly containing her still-uncut hair. In her arms rested an uncharacteristically ladylike pearl purse with a golden chain around her shoulder, which contained all manner of perfumes and a small emergency cash reserve supplied to her by her generous, yet quite insistent friends. They all agreed to give her bring a concealed knife in her back pocket too, just in case. She didn’t know who this “blind date” of hers was, only that he was in a similar bind as her- studying at a school where most, if not all students were older than them, and thus sorely were lacking romantic pursuits. That fellow, she was assured, was as charming as he was handsome, and upon her pressing the issue, she was also assured of his intelligence, wisdom, and respectability for women. She kept the knife, though. It was a good idea, no matter what. In all honesty, she didn’t really know if she cared at all to go on this date. She was confident in herself, her mission in life, and would never be able to dedicate all the emotional and time investment of a relationship, let alone one with all these irrational, hormone-driven teenagers- which, she liked to conveniently forget, she herself was also. Yet these friends, older and wiser and far more romantically-inclined, pressured her to take this inane, irrational choice to simply 'live a little', as they put it, and now here she was, sitting in the prettiest and most expensive outfit she had ever worn, waiting in a table for two. She had arrived a half-hour early, and so had nothing to do but wait and bemoan her unfortunate situation. Well, that and snack on the free cakes and tea that were provided prior to the meal. That was, arguably, what kept her sticking around for even a second longer. She was about to ask for a second plate of cookies from the waiter when she spotted someone in the distance. She at first gave him merely a passing glance, then more and more stared at him as he walked closer, evidently intending on talking to her. He looked like he fit the qualifications. Was this to be her blind date? 

[heartoftheloathsome]

sweet night owls

starter for @ordelion

Hubert’s final cup of coffee has worn off just in time for his final assignment to be completed—a thesis on how dark magic’s dubious history construes it as inherently sinister to a sensitive modern society. The task had been easy enough, save the copious research and excessive citations, given Hubert’s status as a dark mage himself. Whilst Hubert prides himself on that strength, he doesn’t live in ignorance of how he achieved it, either. It was never an innocent path uphill with dark magic—no, rather, it was a creeping, towering chasm Hubert had been forced to scale all on his own, with only the judgement of his father’s piercing, bitter, citrus eyes to motivate him upwards. And all out of spite, of course.

Hubert’s mind screeches to halt as he methodically stacks his papers, his movements growing gradually slower at the recognition of the memory he’s evoked.

His thoughts always circle back to his father, don’t they? Hubert stares down into the empty cup of coffee at his desk, dusted at the bottom with unassuming hazel dregs. He discerns their every detail with meticulous perception, but even in straightforward observation, his mind warps, out of his control.

Something akin to cavernous grief paves a grim path through his gut. Disgust overtakes him for a brief moment as he imagines this cup filled crimson with the blood of patricide. 

Hubert has to rid himself of this cup. Caffeine can only do so much, and for only so long—now would be a good time to collapse under a hefty pyramid of blankets and blindside the phantasms passing over his tired eyes. He stands from his desk, his cup clutched in both hands like some sort of fiendish, unknowing child. It feels smaller that way—safer.

Hubert exits to head towards the dining hall. It is extraordinarily dark outside, and Hubert wonders if he’s just accidentally wandered into the night past curfew. Perhaps—but if that is the case, than he shall have no problems sneaking around in the shadows. He already does that well during the day, so how much harder could it really be at night?

The dormitory rooms he passes are silent. Well, save for a single door click. Hubert’s half-lucid, late night curiosity pulls him towards it. 

A flash of white hair passing through a door, and closing it swiftly behind her. A weak lamp light flicking on inside and filtering through the window. Complete silence—Hubert has to wonder what Lysithea could possibly be doing up at this hour.

Well, there is only one way to find that out. The empty cup in his left hand forgotten by a stroke of good grace, he raps gently on her door three times before whispering just loud enough to where she can hear him through the door. 

“Lysithea? You’d better not be up to no good, if you’re awake at this hour.” 

[crestbound]

action/reaction

“Oh, boy... the knights really weren’t kidding when they said that rebellion was crushed, huh.” 

Sylvain gives a low whistle as they venture forth, stepping over slabs of broken rock as he walks. Everything’s in shambles; it’s impossible to tell what this building even was back in its prime, but the cracks and burns and chips along what little manages to still stand tell enough of a story well on its way to being forgotten. 

It’s a shame; he bets it was quite a beautiful structure before battle tore it down.

“Well, since the city’s underground and everything here’s been more or less blown to pieces, I guess it’s safe enough to assume that the door we’re looking for is gonna be beneath our feet, too.” Though, if a city’s meant to be hidden, he also doesn’t doubt it’ll take a bit of work to actually unveil the door itself. What would it take—magic? A contraption? A puzzle? Perhaps a mix of all three.

“Remember to watch your step!” he calls back, then, a little quieter to the person behind him, he grins and offers a hand. “C’mon. Better to be safe than sorry, yeah?”

@yewfallen @elegiac-boar @ordelion @sheereccentric

[duskroine]

prove us wrong - & lysithea

     A spell is hurled toward a specialized foe--one of thick fibers and a certain buzz--and Ophelia watches as the magic merely bounces off the surface. Her arms lie crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed and body leaning against a close wall. The next spell is not guided by her hands, nor was the one before this, and she watches as the same result becomes of this second burst of magic. While her gaze is not judgmental, there is a sense of confusion in the way she stares at her fellow classmate.

     The training hall would be completely empty if not for them two. And while she enjoys observing as others perform a dance of battle and victory, this was not a dance. Lysithea yells out incantation after incantation, hands worn--surely--of the magic that constantly blossoms around her fingers. Yet she does not stop.

     ( The dummy she practices on is one that Ophelia is familiar with. Although the occurrence of making one was different in her Deeprealms, the effect turns to be the same no matter what nation she steps into. Fiber coated to hold a level of resistance to whichever form of weaponry; for this, it was magic.

     Something the both of them specialized in. )

     It is only when the practice dummy finally falls, that Ophelia makes her way to Lysithea. “Comrade,” she greets her without an exclamation or shout, “I must applaud you for your hard work, as too the stars are in joy for seeing the result of your determination, but do you not think that the night has come to a well-deserved end?” In her hand is a bottle of water held out for Lysithea to take. “You have yet to leave the training hall and when you do, it is only to retrieve another tome from your dorm.”

     I’m worried for you, is what she wants to say. I’m worried that you’re overworking yourself. But she knows how badly it would label her as a hypocrite, so she does not speak those words. Instead, she rests a hand on her classmate’s shoulder and steps in the path between her and the next practice dummy.

     “You need to take a moment to lay off; pushing your body past what it’s capable of will not serve you as a benefit.” ( It’s difficult to look at Lysithea and not see the same girl who clutched onto her arm with teary eyes; blinking away whatever inhumanity the dream of time had set upon her. )

@ordelion

[venalier]

CLOAK AND DAGGER. — ♡

          ❝ good, you’re still here. ❞ for his sake, she’d taken pains to cover up a bit too — no glasses like the curious ones he wore, but a cloak of her own, tying back her hair beneath the hood to hopefully keep anyone from recognizing the telltale scarlet. she was curious, yes, but could respect that this was likely more than just a back-alley hustle of the sort he made it look like. no, more than curious, in fact. being fully prepared meant knowing everything it was possible to know ahead of time, certainly more than a hasty order to meet him at the gates when she was ready to depart.

          the shadows of the alley, though a stone’s throw away from the bustling streets of the marketplace, are well-concealed, if today in part by the sheer volume of crowds moving through, making their own supply trips. it was so packed, some bystanders in an alley would hardly warrant a second glance. ❝ i know that you might not be able to explain everything, but any information you can give could be the difference between whether we come back alive or not. sir aeschylus, right? please, at least who you are, where you’re leading us, and any idea of what might be waiting. ❞

      ♡   //    @aeschyluus, @ordelion, @elegiac-boar, & @eideslanze

[nappingscholar]

A Curious Stare

Continued from here, @ordelion

Oh, seems like he’s been found out. It wasn’t like he was trying to be unnoticed, but Lysithea’s glare caught him off guard. His blank expression turned into a slight smile. This should be interesting, he thought as he set his book to the side, clearly this is more interesting.

“Oh, but why are you getting so defensive? If you had nothing to hide you should have no problem with me watching you.” Linhardt let out a small laugh, he could tell that she was getting rather annoyed with him. Maybe in her anger, she might let something slip about her secret.

“Not just anybody can interest me enough to delay my nap-time, so you should be quite honored.” He paused for dramatic effect.

“So let’s talk about your Crest.” 

[amitieos]

a helping hand

continued from here

Elincia had just finished up kitchen duty for the day, pockets filled with  a jar of candied fruits the staff had simply insisted she take with her. It wasn’t at all necessary - whilst preparing today’s meals had gone very smoothly, Elincia was more than happy with a job well done. There was no need for extra praise, she enjoyed cooking and always jumped at the opportunity to help out the kindly kitchen staff.

As she left, a petite young lady with ivory hair caught her attention. She looked pale and exhausted, straining under the weight of the bulky bags of flour she carried. Elincia was about to offer to take a couple of the bags off her hands when the girl tumbled to the ground. The bags split and Elincia wasn’t quite fast enough to reach her in time to break her fall. Still, she rushed forward, offering her arm to help the student get back to her feet. They could worry about cleaning up the flour once she was certain the white-haired lady hadn’t suffered any serious injuries.

The young student’s acerbic tone however caught her off guard. Elincia only wanted to help but it seemed as though it wasnt simply the girl’s leg that was bruised but her pride as well. She looked.... rather young this close. Whilst Elincia isn’t willing to stand her and hear a tirade against her, she is willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“I want to help you,” she said simply, stretching her hand out further, “let’s get you up on your feet, first. We can sweep up the flour later. Does it hurt terribly? Your leg, I mean.” The bruise was already blossoming deep and violet underneath her skin.

“Would you like me to try and heal it for you?” Elincia asked as she summoned gentle light magic to her fingertips.

@ordelion 

[ordelion]

We do a Little Brewing - Lysi & Serra

Lysithea’s brewing class was probably her least favorite class as far as classes that were based somewhat on magics. It wasn’t for a lack of good curriculum or reason to learn, as she knew the value of each remedy or booster shot or so forth that she learned- as often as not, various doctors had used it on her in the past to varying degrees of effectiveness. It wasn’t for the smell of the class, although that did disturb her, and it wasn’t the teacher, although he was too quiet for her personal preference. Rather, it was the group projects. FORCED group projects, with whoever was next to her. The seating was chosen for each student beforehand, but so far that was a very loose rule- apparently she was the only one who obeyed it. She’d worked with a variety of students, mostly less intelligent than herself but a few moreso, yet consistently all of them were insufferable, unproductive, or most often both at the same time. Only by doing more work than if she was alone could she survive. It hadn’t bothered her too much at first, but when every project, every class period, was with a group, she begun to despise that classroom and all within it. More than once she had snapped, yelling at her project partner for their incompetence and getting a firm talking-to from the teachers for it. That garnered her a reputation among her classmates- ‘she’s more venomous than the poisons we’re trying to cure‘, a few would whisper behind her shoulder. One period, she found herself partnered with her actual, *official* seating partner. Serra. The girl wasn’t someone she had seen before, so it was a refreshing change of pace from the usual buffoonish faces she’d had to contend with in the past. But when the teacher announced the semester project was going to be a two-person assignment on creating a collaborative invisibility potion, that excitement drained away. She sighed and rocked her head in her hands as the rest of the class slowly began to filter into their research stations. “By the Goddess, why must we have so many? We’ve had seven group projects this month alone.” She hissed, mostly to herself. She turned over to her partner, a defeated sort of look buried in her pink irises, and muttered something that could barely be called a joke for how dry it was. “So, stranger girl, what bright ideas might you have?” @serraic