Emerald green hues gazed upon Hezul, a raven colored eyebrow lifting up in curiosity. If something like that was said, did it mean that the other hadn’t had a plan of what to do of the day? It was rare that he never had a busy day, too. Mistoltin didn’t have anything against it- he was only wondering, seeing that it felt odd. A bit too odd- but not enough for him to actually mind it much. Tilting his head aside like a curious pup, the demon sword stood silent for a bit more, overlooking the thought of passing a day- a calm one, that is.
❝ I’ll assume that you didn’t have anything to do then, Lord Hezul? ❞
He couldn’t get himself to simply call the man by his name alone. As much as he wanted to- it always slipped out but he never found the will to correct himself. Fingers lightly toyed with the fabric of his coat’s sleeves’ ends absently, the sword found himself gazing away, perhaps it was clear that he had little to no idea how to even enjoy a day. It was.. a foreign subject, indeed.
There was a sigh, a hand going through his hair, his fingers pulling at the end strands which had grown to his neck. It had gotten to that time of the year again? How lousy... Time was passing by much quicker than he had anticipated.
“My duties have been keeping me, so I didn’t really have much free time. I’ve paid my visits to friends recently, so all that’s left that I want to do is to visit my old home...” The Agustrian king had barely shown his face around that village, long since the war first started against the Lopt Empire...
“The area used to be flocked with bandits, and we may come across some if I haven’t scared all of them away from stepping foot back again. But, it’s not driving fools off that I want to spend the day on.” It would be more preferred to spend the day with Mistoltin like they ain’t got a worry for tomorrow..
The voice made him freeze in his tracks. Lifting his head up, the demon sword gave a glance over his shoulder, surely not expecting this.. specter that looked exactly like him to be standing there. Eyebrows furrowing, he turned on his heels, tilting his head to the side as he observed the other for a moment. Yep, exactly was the same- the hair, the face, the eyes.. Aside that now, he was dressed like the others and that strange blue aura was also around him. Another one sent to attempt to get him back to the camp and cooperate ? Psh, he wouldn’t fall so easily for this. This wasn’t acceptable to use images of his previous wielders in attempt to influence him!
Mistoltin merely growled for now, fingers curling up into fists to show his annoyance. Hell, the more he stared at him, the more he was getting ticked off by this weird sensation. As well as each time he hoped it would be them, his thoughts vanished when he took in the strange aura they emitted. It wasn’t something a normal human being would be able to, unless they had special abilities. Raising his head up, as if he would stare down at him if he was any taller, the raven haired humanized weapon folded his arms onto his chest, just below his cravat. Was it him? There couldn’t be a second him, of course. Replicas were never as remarkable as the originals.
❝ And? What does it change, hm? It’s not like you are the real Hezul. ❞
He huffed, shoulders lifting up. How he was tempted to turn around and just leave and hope to not be followed. It was an option that he could accomplish right away, but nonetheless, he preferred to know the reasoning behind the phantom’s presence here. Surely, he heard that barely anyone dared approach Mistoltin, due to how bad his temper was, and of course, since some even came back injured because of their curiosity. His gaze turning into a cold glare, he brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes.
❝ What exactly are you trying to accomplish by standing there like a fool, hm? I’m sure that if that tactician bothered sending you here to get me back there, it’s no use. I’d rather crawl in the sand, bruised and on the edge of actually dying than stepping near a bunch of buffoons.❞
He sneered, clearly not caring if he was mocking them so openly. Sure, they were doing good acts but he didn’t care, he didn’t want them near his personal space nor did he want to be tormented by people summoned from cards that would only bring back the most hurtful memories that dwelled deep within his mind. Remembering his loses was the last thing he wanted to feel.
It didn’t surprise the man one bit about how his sword partner reacted. Couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh, although rather bitterly than out of pure amusement. “You’ve gotten more stubborn since last I saw of you, Mistoltin...”
After having said such a thing, Hezul gave him a sad look in his usual fierce gaze. The...very same look he gave Mistoltin before he left him behind all of those years ago. ...How long had it been now? A hundred years? Could it have been a millennia? If these lands were the same, it surely had changed tremendously; riding about as he avoided any contact until he found a single familiar face—one he was surprised to see at that. Then it turned into guilt.
For a prideful warrior who have been descended upon by the dragons themselves to feel like this, the composed holy crusader himself never thought he’d truly feel guilt and actual regret. Hezul was confident in leaving the future of Agustria to the next generation, to his children and brothers in arms, that he’d left the world early expecting to be content. Oh, how he was wronged... It would have been better...to have Mistoltin by my side, he had thought when he drew his last breath; no content feeling at all.
“You called me a fool, yet I have no words to say to you otherwise.” Had he just admitted his foolish actions? Perhaps so... Even then, he could not bring himself to argue, only accepting what Mistoltin thought of him at the moment. It wasn’t out of defeat, rather acknowledging what he had done.
“I intend no means to be in contact with that tactician or their army. We don’t belong here, we are only dead soldiers fighting for naught that is long over in their own respective times. Many don’t realize it, however... “ There was a pause, as the look in his eyes turned back into the usual resolute gaze, believing firmly in what he had to say. With not a person in sight, he turned back to the sword who was understandably silently raging. “I tailed you here on purpose, so that we wouldn’t be bothered.”
[slides over to drop a few in separate asks for u] Geoffrey/Volke, 12
His legs are burning by the time he reaches his chambers.Not that his burden is really all that heavy, but carrying a man up threeflights of stairs isn’t exactly the easiest thing to manage.
The man in question has a fever of course, and showsabsolutely no gratitude for being returned to Geoffrey’s bed. Instead he leansup on his elbows, breaths shallow, the upper edge of his bandana growing darkwith sweat, “Get off!”
Geoffrey doesn’t, just pushes him back down and goes for theboots. Not that he thinks he’s likely to get kicked, but Volke might be less inclinedto renew his attempts at escape if he’s shoeless.
And Volke lets him, doesn’t really have a say in the matter.Just mutters foreign obscenities under his breath as his boots and coat areremoved, his sheathes and straps unbuckled next. Eventually he’s how Geoffreyleft him this morning, small and smothered beneath an old quilt.
The only issue isthat he refuses to stay that way for long.
“I think it’s time we talk.” Geoffrey kicks off his own footwear and just breathes for a long moment.
There’s a way out of this. He’s sure.
Geoffrey is so very confident that there is something he can do to make the sick man inhis bed see reason. He has to be, because the only other option is trying him to the frame, and Geoffrey’s so much more confident that Volke will never come near him again if he tries. “Three times you’ve taken off, and three times you’vepassed out before you even got to the courtyard wall.” The mattress dips when he sits on the edge, crossing a leg on his knee. He doesn’t even have the irritation left tosnap. “What do I have to do, to avoid a fourth?”
Coughing is the only response he gets, one of those weakfits where Geoffrey can hear the wheezing gasp of barely any air getting in. Volke’swhole body trembles with the force, a shudder beneath the quilt. His hands fistso feebly in the fabric, water gleaming at the corner of his eyes as he coughsinto his elbow. The minutes are long before he can breathe again, still quiveringas Geoffrey slides a slow palm over his shoulder.
“Help me out,” Geoffrey tries, leaning forward, bracing hisarm on the other side of Volke’s body. “Why won’t you just stay? Give it a fewdays, a week even, without being a fool, and you’d feel so much better.”
But Volke doesn’t think like that. Never really has anythingin mind past his work and getting it done, “Don’t have time.”
“You never do,” Geoffrey sighs, putting a hand through hisbangs, no matter that it doesn’t abate the renewed annoyance pinching the backof his neck. There’s nothing more he can say, that he knows how to say, so hejust grabs Volke’s coat and stands, moving to hang it from the corner of hiswardrobe.
There’s a fallen bit of parchment on the floor when he turns back forthe boots.
Volke notices too, starts coughing again as he reaches forit, something desperate enough in the strain of his fingers that Geoffreycatches the corner of the parchment with his foot and slides it further fromthe bed.
He has to bend down and snatch it then, since Volke’sapparently contrary enough to try and crawl out of bed to get it back. There’snot even the least bit of fight in him when Geoffrey takes his shoulder andforces him back against the mattress, just a faint tremble in his body andrasped annoyance that isn’t even articulate beneath another coughing fit.
So Geoffrey just pulls the covers back over him and dropsinto a chair, feet kicked up on the bed as he unfolds the parchment. It’sfilled with thick blocks of text, written with the sort of flair that Begniontends to have in its correspondence.
He doesn’t read it all, a cold depth in his chest, just skipsnear the end when his eyes start to protest at the smallness of the script. There’s a summary, a bloody signature and a date somefifteen years prior.
That, and a little sigil that looks near the same as themark above Volke’s wrist.
Geoffrey clears his throat and glances up, “How much doesyour next job pay?”
Volke isn’t even looking at him, on his back with an armover his eyes. Just looks so pale and softly miserable. He sighs, quiet enoughthat it’s barely heard, “…Eighteen thousand.”
That…that’s sort of surprising, “Really?”
He shrugs, chest again shuddering as he refuses another fitof coughs. “Just information, no travel, no physical contact with the target.”
Heh. Volke would be the guy to give a discount for notactually having to engage with someone.
Still, eighteen thousand would still put a bit of a dent inthe yearly total that’s written bold above his name at the bottom of thecontract.
Geoffrey chews his lip a moment, though why he’s botheringto pretend to think about this is a mystery. He’s going to do it, might as wellmake it clear so he doesn’t have to pluck an assassin from the castle groundsagain, “Give you twenty five to stay.”
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
But at least, he wasn’t dead- well, it was maybe a good thing. A quiet noise leaving the knight’s lips, he shifted, head tilting up so the grass wasn’t fully in his face before fingers gripped against the ground. He swore, he heard something- no, someone- speak to him. His mind was still hazy from the hard blow, so he couldn’t be sure.
Eyelids parted a little before he glanced up.
❝ Ah.. ❞
He raised himself on his elbows, hissing a little. There wasn’t much pain, but his body was sore. Getting thrown off his horse and knocked out due to hitting his head hard wasn’t something that happened daily. Fin attempted a sheepish smile, but perhaps it was obvious it was a fake one.
❝ I’m.. sorry if I worried you. ❞
“You did worry me...” Wanting to say ‘father’ at the end of it got caught in his throat; Delmud only just met him a short while ago and Fin was rather different than he thought him to be. Extremely distant and closed off, that sort of feeling no matter how much he tried to reach for him, his hand just might go through him like Fin was intangible and lost in his own world of troubles.
If what Nanna had said was true... He might not want to see the other child of Lachesis’ right now, as he heard Delmud himself was the reason their mother left Manster and went missing in the first place...
Fin’s force expression was there all too well, confirming his fears. “I’m sorry I rushed out from my position to check up on you... Wait, fa—uh, do you need help getting back up!?”
xsonata: [Pushes Aliyah (Sain’s daughter) to Kent for a reaction e v e]
“Greetings little one.” Kent said crouching down to look into the child’s eyes. He wasn’t aware that it was Sain’s child. “You know, you do remind me of someone.” He said, as something about the eyes was making him think of someone, but he couldn’t rightly say who.
[ Alan to Lance B))) ] "I never thought I’d see you in a tux."
Lance smiled at the comment, although a bit shyly. "I never thought I'd be allowed to attend such a formal event from a land not of my origin. It would be ungrateful of me to show up in something less formal, would it not?" If Marcus hadn't insisted on him coming here, he may not have. Yet, at the same time, he could only think during that time how left out he would feel. That wasn't a feeling he wanted, and he was glad to be able to call these people his friends. It felt like he belonged here, and it was the people who around him who made him feel that comfort.
Thankfully, the outfit wasn't even stiff. Though Lance was formal in speech, his way of dressing in casual manner and his appearance were average. He had expected a tight fit for an outfit like this. Pherae's clothing designs were also to his liking. He well felt that he fit in right now, and it was a welcome change to his usual outlook on the topic. In fact, his comrades were probably heaving sighs of relief that he wasn't feeling too awkward about this. It made him briefly wonder if he'd ever bothered Alan talking about that, but he removed the thought from his mind quickly. This wasn't the time or place for that.
"I don't think I'll ever become entirely comfortable in formal attire, but there's no harm in doing so once in a while in such a calm atmosphere. Rather, it's you who I'm surprised about. Someone with such a fiery personality, in a gentleman's clothing? You know, though, it looks oddly fitting."
[ Alan; to Lance ] “Sometimes you make choices in life, and sometimes choices make you”
"That may be... but I have no intention of being swept along. I'm sure you would understand that." Lance looked over at his partner, the words sinking in a bit more. Things were complicated for Lance, but it was his own thoughts that made things that way. Many times he was told to let go of his insecurities, because in truth, they were holding him back, and he knew that well. In that way, he respected Alan's outlook on things. He only went forward, while Lance just remained in place, thinking something was wrong with himself. It wasn't in his control how his life was happening, and this fast-paced war was almost too much for him when he started over thinking again.
"Not all the choices that happened in my life that I didn't make were bad. For example, I didn't request you to be my partner in protecting Master Roy. You're a bit hotheaded sometimes, but you've been my best friend for a while. When I first heard I was getting a partner when I came to Pherae, I almost expected it to be someone who would want nothing to do with an outsider. I expected to be ridiculed and looked down on, yet you've treated me as nothing of that sort. I've been made a knight to a royal family, with as good a partner as I could have gotten. That choice was not mine, and was made for me. But... I can say I'm grateful they were made for me."
