➵ set me free

from the curse of brigid

[ulircursed]

may activity check

status - passed total points - 123 → 124

skill point allocation: monthly: heavy armor (D+ → C)

acquired (ethereal ball): playbill of a romance acquired (heavy armor c): weight -3

[ulircursed]

[ GRANNVALE ] - An old waltz from before the rise of Emperor Arvis. It was popular during its time in the 750s but has now become a relic of the past, one that may not be as appreciated by the newer generation.

The man — the Knight, as his dress makes well clear despite the setting — is vaguely familiar, a face that Andrei is all but certain he had seen before, if only in passing.

That should not be cause for concern, in and of itself. Despite making his home in the Abyss, Andrei has been here long enough, and has gone on enough missions for the monastery that the majority of its denizens are somewhat familiar to him.

This face, however, stirs something further in the past, and the waltz that they step in time to only seems to reinforce the faint ripple of memory that his presence invokes.

You are Jugdrali, he doesn’t speak aloud, instead keeping his silent, tense gaze trained on the older man’s face, searching for any sign of recognition or hostility when they are in such close quarters. The dagger at his hip sits heavy, still coated with venom like cold reassurance.

(There are so few here hailing from Jugdral, after all, who would not call him an enemy.)

He breaks contact the moment the music ends, and gives his bow, light enough that he does not need to take his gaze off the other. Takes a step back, enough distance away that a sudden ambush would no longer be possible.

“It was a pleasure,” he says, tone empty of sincerity, and wonders how far he would need to go before letting down his guard.

[ulircursed]

[ LIGHT ] - A complex waltz uniquely performed blind, requiring both trust in one's partner and in one's self to successfully pull off.

"Ah, Lord Andrei!" Not exactly sure on how to greet him, Elffin ends with a mix of formal and anxious- unsure of what their stances were, at the end of all that had occurred in the last year. "…Have you been well?"

Where he may have once stepped back, careful not to offend, to place himself at the position of a mere bard against nobility, he fails to do so now. The music begins, unfamiliar.

“…Elffin,” comes the returning greeting, more trepidation in his tone than during any of their previous meetings. The man seemingly defies assessment, any expectations Andrei might hold of his demeanor, of his morality and of his skills ever shifting under their repeated meetings.

“There has been nothing of particular note,” he answers, “Since the mock battle when last we met.” The other’s stance does not escape his notice, more assured than before in a way that settles uncomfortably in Andrei’s awareness.

(Elffin is not afraid of him. It shouldn’t be a bad thing, he knows. And yet…)

It is the familiar beat of a waltz that sounds in their ears, and Andrei takes a moment to glance at the pairs around them, the few who had experience with this dance easily identifiable by their fluid movements. In addition to the steps of the waltz, there is one more detail.

Hm.

“It seems as though this dance will require some measure of… mutual understanding,” Andrei notes, choosing his words delicately as he turns his eyes back onto his partner. For a moment, his gaze narrows, flitting from Elffin’s face to the hand that had enveloped an entire battlefield in ice, and lingers there for a moment. Then, just as deliberately, he closes his eyes, expression tight and jaw set in defiance, as he takes the next step in time with the music.

He doesn’t know if it can be called trust, or if such a thing is even possible. At the very least, he knows that he, too, is not afraid.

[ulircursed]

[ SHAVED ICE ? ] Maybe he'll try some of the syrups later in the night if he gets a chance, but for now Wolf sips at his glass of shaved ice and... well, shaved ice. The attendant looks a little perplexed, but he's content with his (eventual) very cold water.

"Oh." He turns, sees someone (seemingly) approaching his soon-to-be vacated spot, and steps away; turns, then realizes the face is actually somewhat familiar.

"..." He didn't actually get his name, though. Wolf pauses, then simply nods his head in greeting now that he's waited too long to leave. Pauses again.

"...Are you a student?" A glance falls onto his bouquet. Do you need one of these?

The ratio of syrup to ice is difficult to balance, and soon after leaving Mitama’s side, the shade of yellow retreats to the bottom of the glass, leaving Andrei with a disappointing, watered-down mixture with only a hint of residual sweetness.

His approach to the table is halted by the presence of one of the two unfamiliar men who had fought by his side in the mock battle — the sole victor, he recalls, in a fight he’d mistakenly thought all but won when Elffin had been the last one standing.

Ironic, that they would meet again, surrounded by ice.

Anyhow, it seems the other man’s been stricken with the same issue, and even moreso — his glass is as clear as though it had never been touched by syrup at all. Andrei inclines his head in return.

“Yes,” he says, smoothing over any hint of hesitation in his voice or expression as he meets the other’s gaze. Neither this nor their previous encounter had been under normal circumstances where his identity would be called into more question, after all; perhaps allowing the other to think of him as a normal student of the Black Eagles house would be the simplest solution for now.

He follows the other’s gaze downward, before withdrawing one of his own lilies and presenting it to the other.

“I bid you an enjoyable evening,” he says, and with another nod of farewell, turns his attention onto the table and its offered syrups to refill his glass.

[grxstnnefealltoir]

lightly salted and gently stirred || andrei and darios

ethereal ball 26 || by the dinner tables

[grxstnnefealltoir]

Darios' hold is secure, a bit excitable. Show me. I want to see you. The music that begins is neither too fast nor too slow. If he had to guess based on the start, it's a push and pull, an open and close. Nothing cannot exist without everything, a door must be capable of being both opened and closed.

Light and airy is his chuckle and his expression softens at the scoff. From the moment he met the man within the halls of the Abyss, he has been nothing but an enigma. One that's terribly complex in what he has to say. "I trust that as much as I trust your marksmanship. I meant in another regard."

Open. The steps are larger, and the motions more swaying. There is no lead and follow so much as there is working in tandem towards freedom. "When was the last time you attended a ball if I might ask?"

[ulircursed]

The dance is neutral, safe, a middle ground where one does not exert dominance over the other, and Andrei almost dares to relax a fraction in the midst of the movement, a tentative trust placed in the hands of the man who had proven himself an ally despite their adversarial start.

“It has been… two years,” he answers Darios’ question, a momentary hesitance in his voice, though not his steps, as he sifts through the memories that always seem to ebb and flow in this land, “But if you are asking for my experience in my homeland, it has been longer still.”

How many moons had passed since he’d first arrived in this land? His memory draws out distinct events but muddies the overall timeline. Years, though, at least. Another clear sign that time had long left him behind, if he allowed himself to dwell upon it.

“And what of you, in your own homeland?” The question comes out slightly sharper, slightly rushed, an effort to change the subject transparent in its insistence.

[sybellion]

[ GOSSIP ] - For those who don’t want to be the center of attention, sitting on the sidelines and observing those who do is a time-honored tradition. Exchanging thoughts with another while doing so is a rite of passage for a student—it is a slightly worse look for the staff to take part.

“Hey, did you see that guy’s coat? It looks like the carpet we have back at home! Why would someone pick an outfit like that, it’s a bit goofy. Right Si- OH!”

Well that sure wasn’t Lianna.

Rowan stumbled back, almost tripping over a passing waiter and offering nothing but a nervous apology and a mixture of surprise and embarrassment framing his blue eyes. The young king swore he had been by Lianna’s side- but perhaps she ended up slipping away from view the moment he got distracted only to be replaced by another blond.

…would Lianna get mad if she knew he thought this guy was her? Well! She’s not gonna know. Ever.

“Sorry about that! I thought my sister was standing right beside me, haha...ah…she’s blonde too you know…” Forget the completely different shade of blonde, the hairstyle, her height, everything. A gloved hand scratched at the back of his head as excuses slipped away and left him with an awkward smile.

“...my point still stands though, that guy looks like he’s wearing a carpet and I’m not gonna change my mind.” After a pause, he perked up as if remembering something. “Oh yeah, since we’re at it! I think I gotta give those to people? Have a flower! I don’t know what it is so maybe don’t sniff it!” An orchid was offered, then.

[ulircursed]

“The— whose?” 

Andrei turns towards the sound of the voice, proximity and direction much too clear to misconstrue for anything but an attempt at conversation with him. Though, given the other’s reaction, it hadn’t been intentional.

“You thought I resembled your sister,” Andrei repeats, eyebrow raised at the blond man (hair, as he unfortunately notes, a similar shade to his own), wondering exactly how offended he should be at this statement.

The bemusement only grows as the man produces a flower from his bouquet, babbling all the while.

“This is an orchid,” he says blankly, taking the flower but making no move to reciprocate the exchange. Even he, who had never boasted any interest or deep understanding of plant life, could identify a common flower, and his expression only turns more skeptical as he runs his gaze down the length of the other man’s outfit.

“Are you not a noble?” His state of dress suggests so, though the ignorance and shocking lack of propriety does seem to paint a different picture.

[egittae]

[ PHOTO-ARTIFEX ] - The ever-popular photo-artifex makes its annual return, allowing users to capture pictures in as little as a flash of light and a moment. Take home something to remember the event by!

“If we took any of those pictures before, then it was during a moment where I looked and acted like a mess. I would like to fix that if you allow me.”

Lambert almost beelined for the archer the moment he spotted that blond head in the crowd. A whole year before he wasn’t even half of the man he was now- his mind mostly lost in a haze, trying to make up for it with a style and clothing that didn’t make sense with who he was and stuck in a beach to top it all off. 

It felt embarrassing to remember the way he acted back then, even though he couldn’t exactly blame himself for it. But instead of allowing that to eat at his heart, he chose to just focus on making new memories with the new sense of self that settled at his core.

“Because this is more in line with what I used to wear…back then.” He said with a wink, posing next to Andrei almost as if readying himself for a royal painting. "You may also have one of these." He then gave Andrei one of the lillies in his bouquet.

Just before the flash went off, he placed a hand on the archer’s shoulder- the same way he remembers seeing in a painting of himself and a very young Dimitri.

[ulircursed]

Maintain a neutral expression and posture. Walk through the crowd as though nothing had happened. Do not look in the directions he had left both of his earlier conversations.

So focused was he on these commands that Andrei startles when Professor Lambert’s voice sounds right next to him, and he allows the older man to pull him over to the photo-artifex booth without any protest.

He takes the flower in hand — a lily like his, and not a tulip, not the so-called cherished bond that would never truly exist — and maintains the same neutral expression as the photo machine turns towards them, feeling the weight and warmth of the hand upon him.

Flash.

His expression splinters, even though he had expected the shock of the bright light beforehand, and the moment they are left alone, the glossy paper where a faded image is slowly coming into form still clutched in his hand, Andrei looks up at Lambert with a pained desperation in his eyes.

“Fa—” His jaw aches with the force that he slams down upon the misspoken word. What is he thinking?? “Professor.”

Eyes squeeze shut for a second, the burn so easily attributed to the flash from earlier, giving a slow exhale before his next words.

He doesn’t think he’d managed to convey it to Caeldori. Had certainly not been able to convey it to Edain. He cannot keep failing and failing until there is no one left.

(He thinks of the dagger, still now at his side, coated with poison and used to take a life that was all but innocent. What if he already is too late?)

Head bowed, Andrei’s next words are strangled, whisper-quiet against the backdrop of noise from the surrounding crowd.

“…I love you.”

[heriteur]

[ GRANNVALE ] - An old waltz from before the rise of Emperor Arvis. It was popular during its time in the 750s but has now become a relic of the past, one that may not be as appreciated by the newer generation.

Back home, Diamant had grown to expect having suitors pushed upon him—noble daughters vying for his attention, lords and ladies hoping to endear their heirs to him, so that their status might rise in pedigree through association to the royal family, and matrimonial bond to Brodia's new king.

As such, he was no stranger to dancing with people of all types, the challenge of adapting to their habits and unique skill level a worthy battle of its own.

There is discipline in Andrei's movements, a singular sort of focus, and the refusal to yield. A refusal to be lesser, or shown up. It was understandable—both he and this dance had been from Jugdral, hadn't they?

It had taken Diamant some effort to keep up, but keep up he did; he was also the type that refused to back down from a challenge.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" The Brodian remarks over the swell of the music, "Not since the expedition, I believe."

@ulircursed

[ulircursed]

The old waltz had been repeated again and again that night, a standardized dance that anyone from any land could grasp with only some focus. It suits Andrei fine, as a dance that he had long practiced, one that held very little chance of misstep for him.

And while it is clear that Lord Diamant does not have the same experience, he approaches it with the same staunch, assured confidence that he had seen from the other man before. What had been almost comforting in their dire straits on Jugdral soil feels something more uncomfortably like a challenge, here.

“That is true,” Andrei says, fighting the urge to glance away to instead meet the older man’s gaze steadily.

The reminder of their time on Jugdral soil is only intensified by the dance, and it is all Andrei could do to remind himself that, at least in front of Diamant, he had not failed. Had done what was expected, needed of him, and had performed the task adequately.

He had not failed, despite the reminder of the music.

“You have my gratitude for this dance,” Andrei says as soon as the last note draws to a close, his bow light and quick and correct, and produces a lily from his bouquet to present to the other.

There will be no misstep here, either.

[diadic]

    Andrei is always a bit prickly, so his blatant warning to tell Leif to butt out of it doesn't come as too much of a surprise, though the lack of pompous bite behind its delivery does tell Leif information all on its own, regardless of if Yngvi's fallen successor intends it or not. Leif isn't really in the business of rubbing things in or being (purposefully) nosy to the point of prying where things didn't benefit him.

It's not like the two of them are friends anyway.

But Andrei finds his own way to try and deliver what might constitute a dig at Leif's honor, demoting him from prince to mere helper by calling such obvious attention to Leif's peerage and inevitable inheritance in such a question. Traditionalist nobles...

“Would you not be intrigued by new technology?” Leif asks in return. “An heir keeps himself aware of the advancements of things, doesn't he??”

Leif looks through the reels of everything he's recorded and pulls the brief episode he'd taken of Andrei and Caeldori. In moments, a small projection floats in the air between them, materialized from faint light magic. In it, the man's visage smiles before it is no longer visible as the two take a turn in the dance, but it is undeniable the two have been captured in motion.

He chooses it because Andrei would be able to look at it and see, for himself, the power behind the device. It is no mere fabricator of images, because Andrei would surely know this as a memory.

Indeed, a memory. That is all it will be, unbeknownst to Leif.

“See? A painter couldn't do something like that on their own. How could I be anything but curious??”

[ulircursed]

An heir who isn’t even fit to step into the present doesn’t deserve to think of the future.

Andrei had made plans for the duchy, feverishly scribbled words by candlelight containing the improvement of the Beige Ritter, whether to ingratiate or distance himself from the conspiracy, the inevitable training for the heir of his that could never amount to anything in Ullr’s eyes.

So many of them had been discarded, and even the ones that have remained had amounted to nothing, in the end. Perhaps rightfully so.

(He wonders, for the first time, whether Scipio would’ve read any of them.)

The thought of advancement, then, does not bring Andrei as much intrigue as Leif might have expected, but he still pulls his gaze towards the device as the boy fiddles with it, more eager for a reprieve from his earlier thoughts than anything else.

The image, spinning in front of him in shimmering light, is anything but.

Stricken silent with shock, Andrei’s eyes follow the projection closely, gaze drawn, as it had been in this exact moment in memory, to one face only. It lasts only a few seconds before the image shifts away, but to see that moment again, to see the smile on her face and the lightness of their steps…

“…She looked happy.”

The hushed, wondering words catch in his throat, the awareness of his audience sending an alarm through his mind a second too late. His gaze flies up at Leif, fresh awareness of the furious hammering of his heart translating to rage brimming in his words.

“Why would you capture this?”

[ulirblood]

don't ever in jugdral ball edition (with a dash of false memories) — andrei & edain

toaball2026 — started from here

[ulirblood]

edain flinches, her attempt to distance herself from the situation failing the moment he raises his voice and closes the distance between them.

“did you have to or were you just running away?” edain snaps back, blinking her tears away. “because you certainly ran away rather easily! you made me watch my family kill each other like it was nothing!” edain throws her bouquet to the floor in a mix of grief and anger and something else she couldn't possibly label.

“when that never ever had to be the route we had to go down!” her voice catches on the sob in her throat. “you're the worst…!”

by now there are a few ballgoers watching the two of them, whispering words of gossip to each other.

[ulircursed]

Eyes turn upon them, and Andrei's jaw snaps shut, swallowing his next outburst in thunderous silence.

This seems to be all there is to their relationship now, isn't it? A sister who refuses to see any part of his actions as reasonable, even when he tries to explain, to reach for any semblance of connection between them.

Just like back home, he thinks with resignation. For that is all there ever was, a continuous connection from the sister back then to the much older woman standing before him now. Everything in the middle had been smoke and mirrors, and he is a mere fool, bashing himself again and again into a brick wall and expecting a door to open where none existed. Why does he chase a memory that isn't even real?

"I wish you weren't real..." Andrei mutters, much quieter than before, exhaustion drowning out any malice in his tone.

He turns, and almost considers dropping the tulip where he stands, a false, empty promise of a cherished bond that never existed, but his fingers remain stubbornly curled around its stem.

It's a cruel afterlife, to dangle the prospect of his sister's love before his heart only to snatch it away and mock him with the hope of it. But the hope is all he has, and he clings to the flower as a pale imitation of the bond he'd thought possible.

[ulircursed]

[ CHAOS ] - A dance that is difficult to define by virtue of its nature as a medley of popular dance moves across history that somehow come together to form an entertaining, if chaotic, whole.

An unfamiliar face paired with a complex dance is the best he could hope for at an occasion like this. With his concentration poured into making the correct movements, it leaves little room to dwell upon those in the vicinity who could possibly cause trouble for him.

His partner, exuberant in her display of energy, seems better suited for something like this, but he manages to keep up with the steps as best he can.

The music, raucous and undefinable, comes to a halt, and though it seems just as incongruous as the rest of the chaotic dance had been, Andrei bows, as is customary.

"It was a pleasure," he says.

[diadic]

@ulircursed sent: [ PHOTO IN MOTION ] - And in addition, this year boasts a similar device bolstered by new advancements that allow it to capture more than just a moment; now, even motion and sound can be immortalized forever. Take a video with a friend—or catch something juicy you’ll want to keep up your sleeve for later. ( ethereal ball — first half. )

    Even after Ronan's left to go about the rest of his evening, Leif's thoughts still come back to the new version of the photo-artifex, enough to bring Leif's feet right back to it. The demonstration is over, but the woman who had been hosting it remains by the device's side, watching over it to make sure nothing occurs to it.

The crowd from before has been pulled away by the start of some of the more popular dances and songs beginning, pulling many guests to the dance floor, or perhaps it's the doing of the White Heron Cup's start time inching closer and closer, inspiring many participants to rush to get in some last-minute practicing...

Whatever the case, the device is clear for Leif to use, and with some quick permission granted by the woman standing guard, (was she its inventor?) Leif now grasps the new photo-artifex within his hands, inspecting it carefully as he tests it out. He'd had experience with handling the previous, portable iteration of it, but there's still a few things to learn and experiment with, and before he knows it, he's fully committing himself to learning it until...

“Lord Andrei? And... Caeldori??”

He finds the two of them in his viewfinder, finding them a curious duo as the two dance with one another. That old Grannvalian waltz, Leif is able to identify, but he quickly moves on from their two figures, capturing from afar a portion of their dance before he continues onward with recording other people in that crowd. The two are but two of many, countless faces Leif tries to capture in some way, all bearing different moments and emotions with them.

Behind the light of the photo-artifex though, it all feels distant: as if this was their ball, and Leif was merely someone peering in. It's only when some time later, one of those very subjects Leif had discovered through the photo-artifex in motion brings his steps directly to him, bridging these two worlds together.

At the sound of those footsteps, Leif briefly pulls himself away from the device to show his face properly to the fallen noble.

“Are you done with dancing, Lord Andrei?” Leif asks, the follow-up being, “Is that why you're here now?”

[ulircursed]

Andrei considers returning to the Abyss. The earlier exchange chafes uncomfortably upon his consciousness, a nearly painful sensation even though the outcome had been wholly inevitable.

He almost welcomes a distraction, at this point, in the form of his name. There are so few who still call him 'Lord' in this land, and he turns to see Leif, holding one of those new and improved machines in his hands that Andrei had heard about over the course of the evening, but never had occasion to approach.

"How I spend my time at a social function is hardly a concern of yours," he retorts, what heat would've been in his tone smoldered to cinders by sheer weariness.

It's somewhat of a surprise that the other would stop him only to ask after his evening, but then again, he and Leif are not that far apart in age, as much as he dislikes thinking about how the years on Jugdral soil had moved on without him. For as much as Leif is one of the few people to still address him formally, perhaps in the boy's mind, he is more a peer than an elder.

The thought grates upon him too, as powerless as he is to change it, and his next words are delivered with a dryness that the other had done little to deserve, though his gaze does flicker towards the object in Leif's hands with the barest shadow of intrigue.

"Has Leonster's scion found himself a new occupation as attendant of strange devices at such an event, now?"

[venalier]

WHEN SHE WAS A CHILD ,　𑣲　just old enough to begin reading books on her own in the absence of a voice weaving stories from the pages for her ears, her favorite tale for a while was one about a little apple-seller. she no longer remembers the name of the book, couldn't tell you what the cover had looked like, but if she were to ever return to her home in the deeprealm again and go through the familiar shelves cataloguing her infancy, she's sure she could find it again in a heartbeat. it was a children's picture book, hardly a finger's width in length, and it told the story of a young girl who sold apples from a cart by a dusty road.

in this brief, perhaps tragic story, people would come one by one to her cart and stop, listen to her talk and try to sell her apples, and one by one they would walk away. by the end of the book, not a single person had bought any of her apples, and as a child, even caeldori understood something that she felt the girl did not: the problem was that she had committed herself to selling something that nobody needed. apples weren't hard to come by ; why buy them from a cart by the roadside?

yet even as she critiqued this girl in her own puerile thoughts, she read that book over and over again, from cover to cover, until the edges wore down and the binding began to fray. her guardian's family would tease her for liking such a strange story so much, but they never stopped her from carrying the book around, flipping through it in the room next over.

now, caeldori understands her behavior then for what it was: they say that continuing to do the same thing and expecting a different ending is the definition of insanity. was she insane? for still trying? for seeing herself in the words and actions of each heroine of her novels battling unrequited love, except that she dreamed her story might one day turn out different?

she'd come prepared for the worst, but every time, there is a voice that hopes it'd turn out different.

". . . r-right." she has the modesty to bow her head, humiliation creeping up her ears and the back of her throat. too low, she hopes, for anyone to hear: "you'd think i'd learn."

she clears her throat to get rid of that caustic heat and raises her head again with clearer eyes because her father had taught her to be proud and above all to take loss with dignity. "thank you for being honest with me. i didn't mean to put you in a difficult position. . . please, forget what i said. this isn't the first time something like this has happened."

standing in the center of the ballroom unmoving would draw unwanted eyes and attention to their discomfort, so she motions subtly for them to finish out the dance at the very least before she'd earn the right to take her leave and soothe her weary heart in peace.

[ulircursed]

I will stop at nothing to...

Even without an enemy looming before them, it feels like he'd already broken that promise. Andrei finds himself wholly unprepared for the sense of despondency that settles over him when Caeldori lowers her head, a sensation that does not leave him even when she meets his gaze once more.

The coda had begun, and his feet start up the familiar steps with prompting, tight and mechanical and overly conscious. Just like how he would dance with any other partner, except even now, all of his focus remains on her. Trying, despite everything, to search for something to say.

He remembers the letter that he had once written, and never sent. He hadn't been fully truthful with Mitama, but she had guessed at his feelings anyway. In this moment, directly facing her...

(It is something that takes courage, something he and the rest of the world had always found himself lacking. For her, he would have to try.)

"You must understand... that you are one of the most important people in my life," he says haltingly, quiet enough that she would have to lean in to fully hear over the music, "If not for you, I would never have been able to find my place here. And— and you matter to me more than—"

More than she ever could. But it sounds cruel, mocking even, if he were to speak it aloud, so he falls silent, steps stopping as the strings give the final, powerful three notes before fading into silence.

Their linked hands break apart, and the loss jolts through him, more powerful than he would have imagined. This is where they might bow and curtsy to one another, and take their leave.

Andrei leans in instead, at a slight angle, and leaves a kiss on Caeldori's cheek, light and hesitant as though seeking a permission that he knows can never come to pass. When he draws back, a lily is pressed into her palm, his fingers brushing against hers again in a final vestige of connection before it, too, would have to break.

"...Forgive me."

[ulircursed]

[ NETWORK ] - One of your fellow ball-goers is being accosted, and getting into earshot, you realize it’s by someone who claims to be one of the scouts looking for talent. But they’re being a little pushy, aren’t they? And are you sure they’re really who they say they are?

a quick-moving blur at the edge of his vision is all the warning he gets before something small and purple slams into him with the force of a small battering ram.

"le-leave andrei alone!"  who else could it be? a petulant little stomp of her heel, an accusatory finger jammed in the direction of whoever's seemed to approach him. maybe she is assuming things, but one glance at andrei's face from afar was all it had taken for bernadetta to sense a brewing disdain. she is nothing if not protective, if not a bit braver when it comes to the very few friendships she hasn't ruined just yet.  "he doesn't want whatever you're selling, and i'll have you know that his hair is fine just the way it is!

"s-so... there."  nod, nod. with a sharp huff, she continues backing the both of them away from andrei's prior company.  "stay away! i'm warning you! if you want to harass him, you'll have to get through me first!"

and she's very scary, yes. all five feet and big wet eyes of her, who'd want to mess with that?

"I am not interested," Andrei replies through gritted teeth for what feels like the fifth time, ignoring all the other comments that had come with it, gaze darting around towards the Knights standing guard at the entrances, none of whom seem to find the situation one worthy of intervention.

And it isn't, not yet, until he retaliates. Then it will become an issue, and the blame will be clearly allotted. So there is nothing he could—

There is a sense of déjà vu in what happens next, shock carrying him a few feet away without any resistance until the identity of his savior comes to light.

"Bernadetta...?" His heart settles quickly at her presence, and while even he cannot claim that she holds any sort of intimidation factor despite her best efforts, it seems the other man had truly only been seeking trouble with someone unable to fight back. Faced with a student, one willing and able to make her complaints heard, he leaves, a cavernous silence in his wake until Andrei breaks it once more.

"...You are always the one to save me." It is not something he would voice to most people, even if it were true, but she had always, always been the exception to the rule. Perhaps this, too, is a part of being an alive friend.

Their ledgers had never been balanced since their very first exchange, and even now, he knows nothing he could do would ever fully repay the debt he owes her. Instead, he draws a pale lily from the bouquet at his side, twining it against the bow — brave bow, he remembers, with an upward twitch of his lips — in her hair with a gentle motion.

"To the brave warrior," he says, tone light but sincere, the soft, slender flower carrying the weight of all the sentiment behind those words.

[venalier]

IT'S A HUGE RELIEF WHEN HE TAKES HER UP ON CONVERSATION.　𑣲　she has no idea why she'd been afraid that they'd just be silent the whole time——maybe because in that scenario, she can't help but imagine that his attention would have nowhere else to land but on everything that might be wrong with her appearance at such close quarters. could he see the places where her hair was pulled just a little too tightly? where her makeup might be slightly uneven? she didn't usually doll herself up this much from day to day, so her skill with eyeliner was still far outmatched by that of her father——

"oh, yes, there are. but i could dance with them anytime i wanted." mitama, shigure, and the others. it's not that they're not important, but it's not the same as this, of course. cognizant of how that might've sounded though, she hurries to explain: "they're my friends, most of them. so they won't mind. we've been through a lot together that's pretty out of the ordinary. . . "

now she's talking just to talk ; a pink tinge encroaches on the edge of her cheeks. the same could be said of andrei, though——they'd been through quite a bit of ' out of the ordinary ' too. was this just her luck? destined only to meet people through things like kingdoms at the bottom of a gorge and coming back from death?

this isn't the time or place to be thinking such dark thoughts. now it's her turn to clear her throat and try to change the subject.

"actually, there's something i wanted to ask you. if you don't mind. . . "

was this the right time? should she wait until they weren't focusing on a dance? no, she couldn't afford to lose her chance ; the instant they were off the floor, he might be pulled away. the question she'd been working up to for weeks, the prepared disappointment——the sooner she ripped off the bandage, the quicker she could mourn and return to her usual. it was always better to know.

"i apologize for how sudden this is, but i've never been very good at beating around the bush." much to her hoshidan chagrin. "what i want to ask is. . . are you seeing anyone?"

[ulircursed]

"Yes, Mitama had implied something to a similar effect..." Nothing concrete, aside from a war that a father had been forced to drag their child into, but the sharpness in her gaze when she'd interrogated him on his familiarity with one of her friends certainly implies a storied past.

Aside from a vague intrigue at the sudden seriousness in Caeldori's tone when she next speaks, he doesn't expect anything too out of the ordinary—

He freezes, mid-step, pulling her into a standstill. The music flows on without his awareness as he could do nothing but stare, wide-eyed, at her.

"I—"

It's a loaded question, if there ever was one.

For a moment, he remembers a different hand in his, a passionless twirl on a pair of inexpert feet, starry eyes and honeyed words that had amounted to nothing but lies. It should be nothing, she should mean nothing to him, in this distant land with his old life far behind him, and yet...

'It was a disgraceful affair,' Father had said, looking at him with a frown, 'The second son was born around the same time as you, and with Minor Blood at that, but the occasion was hardly what you'd call honorable or auspicious.'

(Surprising, that the shadow of a corpse's lingering disapproval could encompass more than just his own murder.)

Andrei's fingers twitch against Caeldori's hand, though he doesn't let go, not yet.

"You mean to say that you..." Mitama's words echo in his mind. She would've known, and part of him thinks perhaps she might have warned him more explicitly. Perhaps he should have understood her comment for more than the baseless tease he'd assumed it to be.

(Perhaps he should have realized beforehand, even in himself—)

"Caeldori... in my homeland, I had—" a pause, "I have a wife, and a son," he says, slow and careful, "It... it is not my intention, to lead you or anyone else to assume otherwise of my relationship status."

[ulirblood]

don't ever in jugdral ball edition (with a dash of false memories) — andrei & edain

toaball2026 — started from here

[ulirblood]

“i didn't—” she pauses and shuts herself up for a moment. “... it’s true that i looked out more for our sister more than you, but she was like my other half. my soul wasn't complete without her. that’s why i….”

her voice trails off and her expression sours, brow furrowing, upon remembering their last proper conversation. not on the battlefield, not cursing a beloathed brother who surely should have known which side to pick. (yet choosing status over family.)

no, the conversation where she had cried and ran off because he said it himself he hated her. 

“maybe it’s on me to be the older sister here.” she mutters to herself before looking up at him. “but you were the one who pushed me away. you refused to understand me.”

her voice is not callous but– empty. like it was the only thing protecting her from hurt.

[ulircursed]

Years in the future, nearly two decades after his death, and she still had not changed. Andrei feels foolish for hoping, a feeling that surges into anger until he crosses the distance between them, his words coming in a furious hiss.

"And what did that matter? If I'd told you I love you instead of I hate you, would that have stopped you from leaving??" Her mind had been made up, and nothing, nothing he did would've changed a thing. Hatred had been the easier choice, just like the emptiness in Edain's tone now. "Don't you dare blame your whims on me or on your other half when I was the one who had to step into her place!"

The pain deepens with every beat of his heart until he feels a prickling at his eyes. Andrei looks away, breaths rapid and trembling, her flower still clutched in his hand.

"If you had... perhaps Father might have thought you an adequate replacement, and I wouldn't have had to..."

[ulirblood]

don't ever in jugdral ball edition (with a dash of false memories) — andrei & edain

toaball2026 — started from here

[ulirblood]

edain blinks slowly, unable to push away the gift of his flower even if she wanted to with how forcefully he goes about it. she holds it close to her heart for a moment.

"in the monastery?" she asks almost breathlessly. she forgets to answer him properly and instead she closes her eyes for a moment and focuses on simply breathing— lest she do something that would widen the gap of their already gaping relationship.

because despite everything she recognizes somehow that her little brother is trying. edain pushes the flower she's given him into her bouquet— than holds out her one of her tulips towards him.

"tulips represent a cherished bond." she mutters just loud enough for him to hear, looking away and blushing ever so slightly.

"i have never ever genuinely hated you..... andrei. if you'll believe what my flower has to say about it."

@ulircursed

[ulircursed]

"You never hated me," Andrei echoes tonelessly, staring at the tulip in her hand. After a few moments, he reaches out, lips parting in breathless, mirthless laughter.

"You never hated me... What does it matter? You still left, and you still watched as—"

The laughter catches, and he falls silent, cradling the cherished bond in his hand. His chest aches, sharp and insistent where Yewfelle's arrow had pierced him through, and he wonders if she might be able to heal that pain if she truly tried. If she truly wished to.

"I was still the least in all of your hearts, was— wasn't I? You, and Father, and..."

Perhaps she truly believes he was cherished. Perhaps he should've considered that sufficient, and allowed her to take what path she chooses and followed her in those footsteps.

(It hadn't been. And what does that say about him?)