#support: zelkov

[laslow]

[CHALLENGE] - our muses have a sand castle building challenge

"I *warn* you, I will not be *easily* bested." Zelkov's serious tone was a clash against the brightly colored sand buckets around him. He slowly waved a plastic shovel in Laslow, emphasizing his words. "Every *pursuit* I undertake consumes me until it is *exhausted* fully, flame of the candle of *passion* burnt out. Let this *contest* of mastery and *creation* begin!"

Beach Episode AU!

When Zelkov had first approached, Laslow had instinctively taken a step back, thinking back over his interactions of the last few days. Nothing with Ivy that could warrant another threatening--and now that he realizes it, he should say hello to her again soon--so unless this guy is somehow related to the girl he'd tried (and failed) to ask out for dinner a couple days ago, there's no reason Laslow should find himself on the business end of Zelkov's knife.

A red bucket hits Laslow's foot. When he looks back up, it's not facing a knife, but an equally brightly colored plastic shovel. "Sheesh, way to scare a guy!" One hand falls dramatically over his heart, and he hopes Zelkov doesn't see the way his fingers shake. "Alright, you're on! I happen to be a man of passion myself. May the best sandcastle win!"

The hour passes in a blur of sand and water and a handful of seashells stuffed in his pocket that were far too pretty to ignore. When they finally step back, Laslow swipes a sandy forearm across his brow. His castle consists of two slightly crooked towers connected by a rather impressively arched bridge--he'd even managed to sculpt a spiral staircaise on each tower, as well as windows.

"Ha! Not bad at all, don't you think?"

[princeofopenness]

I’ll have two number 4s, a number 4 large, a number 6 with extra dip, a number 7, two number 45s, one with cheese, and a large soda.

4. angry 4. angry 4. ANGRY 6. silly 🍲🍲 7. angsty 45. resentful 45. resentful 🧀 🥤

Zelkov was an unknown quantity for Alfonse, something the prince didn't particularly care for. He was aware Zelkov existed. Alfonse had met Zelkov's employer, Princess Ivy more than once, as well as his fellow retainer Kagetsu. He had seen records of Elyosian history in Askr's library. He was fully aware Zelkov existed, but that was effectively the limit of his knowledge. Beyond the broad strokes, Alfonse knew next to nothing about the Elusian retainer. He wasn't even certain if Zelkov was even from Elusia. Kagetsu wasn't, he knew that, so Ivy already had set a precedent for recruiting from outside her homeland.

The fact that Zelkov had a few odd habits was something Alfonse should have been able to predict, yes, but the man had so far been beyond anything the prince would reasonably have anticipated. Everyone from Elyos seemed to be a bit of an oddball, even compared to the already-abnormal level of eccentricity of the average Hero they had summoned. Some were a bit more level-headed than others, but Zelkov was simultaneously proving to be one of the oddest and most normal at the same time. For all intents and purposes, he actually seemed to have a relatively normal internal logic (something that could not be said for Kagetsu), but the way he presented everything he did managed to be as irksome as possible. He couldn't just do anything like a normal person, oh no, he needed to find the most dramatic means possible of relating whatever was on his mind. Alfonse was starting to wonder whether or not Zelkov was being frustrating on purpose.

"For the last time," Alfonse huffed, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in an open display of frustration, "I am not testing potions made by someone I don't know, and certainly not ones with entirely unknown effects."

It was Zelkov's absolute certainty that this was in both of their best interests that annoyed Alfonse the most. He had gone on more than long enough about how wondrous his creation must be for Alfonse to begin to tune him out. It was somewhere in between poetic descriptions of its color and viscosity that Alfonse had concluded Zelkov had absolutely no idea what the potion would even do. Besides, the man looked every bit like he was Ivy's personal assassin, but if he was trying to eliminate Alfonse, this was the most foolish way possible to attempt it. What kind of fool did he take Alfonse for to think that the prince would just drink an unknown concoction from someone who seemed so likely to have ill intent?

[dazzling-thunderclap]

∗ 79﹕ sender  creeps  up  behind  receiver  to  scare  them .

As though carried by the wind; suddenly and without a sound Zelkov manifests behind the azure-clad knight. He has but one purpose in this approach - one reason for speaking to the blond at all.

It is a pink handkerchief that had fallen out of the knight's pocket some twenty-paces back.

"You have misplaced this," he says, in his characteristic way. He is close enough that his voice is close to the ear, and he reaches an arm over the knight's shoulder, to dangle the object plainly in his face.

Is that a T embroidered in the corner? Perhaps this man is a fan of needlework too...

Gatrie starts, goes up like a thunderbolt, because there is a ghost behind him.

And Garreg Mach is super haunted, right? So haunted. Gatrie yelps with it, like some kind of girl.

Humiliating.

And then--then there's lace and cotton in his face, pink...

Oh no.

It's Tiffy's handkerchief, Gatrie's one token of her... as her scent has faded from his clothes, and there was never time to get a lock of her flaxen hair...

Gatrie's last memento, and not even one that she gave him. She'd just left it, forgotten when her brother whisked her back home on his white horse.

Gatrie hasn't even got a dun horse, and for a moment--he didn't even have her handkerchief.

What a fool, what a disaster of a man.

To consummate his shame, Gatrie turns. Glum-faced, he accepts the handkerchief, he holds it to his face.

It smells like the dust of the road. Not even--not even like Theophania anymore.

He sniffles, lays his shining eyes upon his savior (who is no ghost).

"T-thank you," he warbles, through burgeoning tears, "you, you don't know what this means!!"

[laslow]

🧍

He strode up to *Laslow*, reevaluating his approach from the Sain incident. He would take a different direction, using more familiar tactics to Zelkov. He idly tossed a knife up and down as he spoke, eyes glinting as he seized him up.

“You are *Laslow*, are you not?”

The knife stilled, caught in his palm. Zelkov leered down, his best “scary face” on.

“I am *retainer* to Queen Ivy, and I see *all.*” he growled. (He didn’t, but he’d say whatever he needed to). “I have *one* allegiance, and it is not to you. Should you *pester* my liege again—” he swirled his cloak, showing off a number of knives tucked away here and there, “You shall be *dealt* with.”

He paused. He had to be truthful.

“I am also the school *nurse* should you need any *ice* for *burns* you no doubt get.”

companion to this

He walks with a furrowed brow, mentally running through all the tasks that await him after lunch. There's a half-unfinished stack of tests to grade, a new book on the art of swordplay to skim through, and he needs to sneak away into town in search of a new pair of dancing slippers.

"Hm?" Laslow's pulled from his thoughts once he hears his name, pausing in his meandering path to the dining hall. Brown eyes narrow as he tracks the knife glinting with afternoon sunlight. Unconsciously, he tenses, mind registering the beginnings of a threat. A hand lowers and rests gently on the pommel of his sword.

In other circumstances, he'd be happy to meet another retainer, especially one from the newly welcomed Elyos continent. As it stands, Laslow swallows even while raising an eyebrow in forced confidence. He gets the whole loyalty thing, really, and doesn't hold the whole implied bodily harm thing against the man. (And that's an impressive number of knives hidden under his cloak.)

Well. Good to know he'd also be a decent fellow to patch Laslow up after the aforementioned bodily harm.

"Indeed, I am the infamous Laslow!" He bows, releasing the hold on his sword to place his arm across his chest. "A pleasure to meet you. I assure you, I had no intention of upsetting your queen." There's a friendly smile on his face when he straightens and meets the knife-weilder's gaze.

"It's just my way of saying hi! My deepest apologies for causing offense. And the burns were one time from this stunning girl who threw an entire teapot worth of tea at me...."