#support: owain

[laslow]

I Am Thou, Thou Art I

> continued from here

If Odin--sorry, Skull’s--costume looks that flashy, Laslow shudders to think how his own outfit looks. It’s with no small trace of dread he finally faces his reflection in the mirror. 

Oh. This isn’t half bad, actually! The oversized collar jutting out on either side of his neck is a little obnoxious, but the rest of the navy jumpsuit is surprisingly low-key. Laslow moves his arms a bit, getting a feel for the billowing sleeves. 

He then fiddles with the navy and white striped belt a moment, finally satisfied with how to rests across his waist. The white boots fit almost as comfortably as his normal ones. He sends a silent thank you to Odin for the costume choice. 

Brow crinkles upon hearing Personage V. It sounds familiar... 

“Those light novels you were obsessed with? Seriously, this is another level of dedication.” Laslow turns from his reflection. “I am already cool and mysterious, thank you very much!” (That’s what he tells himself, at least.) 

Skull dashes off, and Laslow starts to follow, until he feels something hitting the back of a leg. He stops, head craning to look. “My wha--ODIN! What will the ladies say about this!?” 

@teneguine !!

[filthtouched]

mirror, mirror | niles & owain

He doesn’t quite consider himself lucky for it, but he’d recognize the back of that head anywhere.

“I should’ve known you’d be here, too,” Niles greets, slipping the book—some duty tome detailing the history of Faerghus, it would seem—back into the shelf before he approaches. “Though, just how you managed to get here before me remains a mystery…”

Because he refuses to believe that Odin, for all his virtues and strengths, had found out where their missing liege had gone before Niles did. He refuses to believe, even more so, that Leo could have possibly told Odin where he’d be, but not Niles. Odin is a force all on his own, of course; despite his penchant for theatrics, he’s a tempest, a whirlwind, a world of terrifying magic humming beneath his fingertips. He’s a good retainer, all things considered, because he can do his part in keeping Leo safe.

(…But—surely, surely, it’s not to a degree where Leo has found everything in him that he could not find in Niles. Surely, Odin has gotten here first out of sheer, dumb luck and not because their lord had told him, specifically; him, only.)

“Odin.”

@blarflame

[princepsumbra]

[ TELL ] Share stories around the fire. Lately, children have made a game out of whispering a story into their friend’s ear, who has to retell the story to the best of their ability to their friend, and so on. When the story finally reaches the end of the “convoy,” it’s often a completely new story.

"... And when we squared up against the legendary Fell Dragon of chaos incarnate, together we delivered our famous lines,

Prepare for trouble! And make it double! To protect the world from devastation! To unite all peoples within our nation! To denounce the evils of truth and love! To extend our reach to the stars above! Lucina! Odin! Team Dark blasts off at the speed of light! Surrender now or prepare to fight!

Anyway, that's the story of my good cousin, Lucina of The Exalt. Slaying mighty and fearsome dragons is in our blood! It's why a Dark's ire is never to be tested."

Midsommar 2022

He'd gotten caught up in yet another round of this silly game.

Experiencing such foolishness once was more than enough for him, yet Odin had loudly offered to begin the next tale and promptly started whispering in Leo's ear.

Idly, he wonders if he can get away with clapping his retainer in irons like he'd done when Odin skipped training.

Eyebrows raise the longer he speaks. Such a casual offer about his past overshadows the ridiculous speech Leo's only about sixty percent sure wasn't spoken during a battle for their very lives.

"I'm not repeating that." The entire story took at least five minutes, and he'd noticed a few of the younger children squirming with boredom out of his peripheral.

Leo stands, dusting off his jacket. More questions about just who exactly Odin is crowd his thoughts. If he can't pull them from the man himself, then Odin's opened the door for someone else to provide insight. "Enjoy the festival, Odin."

[laslow]

[ TASTE ] Away from the noise of the festivities, the Chefs of the Round Table (the cooking club) has set up a mostly-private bonfire to test out some of their new creations. Their latest masterpiece? Something called a “marsh mallow,” a recipe from the Sreng region sweetened with vanilla and sugar. It’s supposedly delicious when toasted over a fire…

"Behold, my most divine creation! I call it, The Dark-Mallow. By roasting its sweet, puffy flesh in the flames of vengeance for an infinite eternity (thirty minutes) I've managed to char my treat an umbral black! Feast upon its glory, Laslow of the Azure Skies, and appreciate my culinary genius!"

Midsommer 2022 (still accepting!)

By now, it's second nature to translate Odin's hyperbolic speech into words normal people used. Utterly exhausting, honestly, doing this every damn time they talk.

"What, you speak marsh mallow now?" Laslow taunts, eyeing the charred puffball on the end of Odin's roasting stick. No way is he putting that in his mouth; it's an affront to his sweet tooth.

Laslow spears his own marshmallow on a stick. "For the last time," he says, pointing it at Odin, "I prefer Indigo Skies." He holds the mage's gaze for a moment longer before flicking his roasting stick over the flames.

"You're supposed to bring out the sweetness, not char it within an inch of its life! Sigh." He's tempted to ask what Odin named his cookbook--probably something ridiculous, like My Cooking Hand Trembles--but decides to tuck that little barb away for the next time Odin tries to brag.

[laslow]

[BAKERY] it’s bakery day in the academy’s mess hall, and Odin drags Laslow to fight through swarming crowds to snag their favourite pastry on the menu. 

"Hurry, Inigo! I need this heavenly ambrosia to fuel my ravenous appetite and power up my next super attack!"

Garreg Mach asks!

"Why am I being dragged into this?" Inigo grumbles, shaking his arm free of Owain's grip. A fresh lemon cake does sound incredibly appealing, but Owain doesn't need to know that. Especially after he'd burst into Inigo's dorm spouting some nonsense about an epic adventure.

He should have known this was another exaggeration of his best friend's. (And even then, what's the harm in indulging it? They're still young, after all, despite feeling decades older.)

Someone bumps into him; Inigo stands his ground, refusing to be pushed aside. "What, are you going to name it Ambrosia Dragon or something equally ridiculous? You owe me two lemon cakes for this, you know!"

Dancer manages to slip through a crack in the crowd, reaching a line of tables overladen with pastries. "Alright, which one is your ambrosia?"

[theindigoflirt]

F is for Friends Who Do Stuff Together

> starter for: @blarflame

Saint Serios must be a pretty amazing lady to get a day just for herself. Not just a day, Inigo observes as he picks his way across the market, but a celebration. 

Sure, he vaguely knows who she is from all his classes, but the details on why she gets such a huge party escapes him. But seeing all the costumes makes him smile, and serves as inspiration for his own dance outfits. 

Today, though, Inigo’s not shopping for pleasure. Low funds don’t allow for frivolous spending and he needs new quills. Humming some old lullaby, dancer enters the store, a little bell chiming just above the door. Students in various states of academy dress mill among the shelves. 

And it would have been peaceful shopping, too, if not for that meddling swordsman— 

The shock of blonde hair is unmistakable. The general aura is unmistakable. Naga, he’s even thinking like the crazy kid! It’s too early for this nonsense. Inigo sighs as he snatches up the first quill he sees. Best to escape before he’s subjected to loud exclamations about destiny and twitching sword hands. 

Gods. Inigo pays for the quill, handing over a couple of his precious coins and slipping out the door before catching any unwanted attention. In his haste, he didn’t even compliment the pretty girl manning the counter. Ugh, he’s losing his touch. 

“You’ll be Nemesis!” cries a little girl, a floppy paper crown adorning her head. The point of her wooden sword pokes Inigo right in the chest as he steps out of the shop. 

“Woah there, little warrior!” Laughing, dancer politely pushes her toy weapon aside. “I’m one of the good guys!” “Hm, no, today, you’re the baddest bad guy! Oh, and you have to invite all your evil friends!” She levels her sword at him again, and well, if a little girl asks you to join her make believe game, it’s basically law you have to agree, right? 

A slow grin blooms across his features. “Of course, my lady! Don’t move; I know just the evil friend!” Inigo whirls around, right back into the shop. 

“Owain! What a coincidence, I was just looking for you!” After spending ten minutes avoiding you. “We’ve been invited to play a game!”