still so unsure

linhardt von hevring affiliated with toa.

[encantresse]

[ ♫ ]  ─  * 𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭

post-anamorphosis reunion | dorothea & linhardt 

[encantresse]

linhardt's reveal is like a knife to the gut, leaving dorothea feeling unexpectedly winded. a state of shock rapidly seizes her senses, because there is nothing that could've prepared her for the disclosure—nothing that could have prepared her for the ensuing horror behind the implications.

"...so it's still happening. i thought it was a one-time instance. a cautionary tale."

it comes out sounding defeated, because what else is there to feel in the face of confirmed atrocities, in knowing they may continue well into the future without any sign of stopping?

"i don't understand the logistics of it," she says, softer still. "i mean, i get what they're after, but... where do you even find those things? dragon bones? dragon blood? i mean..."

dorothea exhales. then, weakly, she measures out the shape of an object with her hands. "i found a book this thick. it was full of bizarre information, like recipes for potions and other things i couldn't make sense of. who knows what else was in there, lin? what other monstrosities?"

[warpaway]

it's difficult. hearing dorothea's reaction. knowing that she knows the horrors, but not that she knows some of the people involved. linhardt feels as though there's a tight lock shut in his throat, and the metal is upsetting his stomach.

“if it's any consolation, it may not be a book full of nothing but horrors,” they suggest gently.  they say it, but that doesn't mean they believe it themself.  "the manner of people that would commit such atrocities may not necessarily see it as horror, but… mundane.

“what i mean is, they might catalogue such horrible experiments alongside those easier to, well, stomach.  so…"

he shakes his head, moving so that he might hug his knees to his chest.  “well, i suppose none of that matters much.  awful things have happened, and awful things continue to happen, and… there's always awful things that happen. if i could heal the people that were hurt by those experiments, they would still be hurt. there isn't… it can't be… solved.”

it can't be solved. is that how he feels about it? hurt is a problem to be solved, and because it can't, is it pointless?

“…i'm truly sorry, dorothea. i wish i could tell you in confidence that boogeymen weren't real.”

[warpaway]

the hevring-isaach roofing co.

restoration || faith +1

[warpaway]

“ah, torch would be an efficient spell to learn for this purpose,” linhardt muses out loud.  their foot lands heavily in a stray puddle, but it hardly matters.  their boot keeps the water out fine, and they feel nothing except the gentle squelch of wet dirt underfoot.

“there would certainly be a blatant effect should i learn that…  but no.”

their focus returns to the professor, smiling.  "it's warp.  since i can't yet cast that upon myself, i'd need a willing volunteer, and to be honest, i'd rather not risk anyone else's safety like that.  the crest of cethleann has more interesting intricacies than some others - for example, the only two other crests that have any affect on white magic only preserve the fatigue one experiences when casting for a long time.  that's a difficult thing to quantify, but i've noticed that my spell-slinging stamina, let's say, isn't very different than some one without a crest, even when mine manifests.

“cethleann's crest enhances my spell casting, so i hypothesize that if my crest manifests on a cast, it should strengthen the effect of the more utility-based white magic, such as…”

rather than say the spell name, linhardt casts it on the envelope still in his hands.  to his delight, the crest of cethleann shines in front of him, and the conversation is almost dropped by him instantly.  his focus goes to the envelope, touching every surface with his fingers, and testing the boundaries of the flap meant to seal a letter in.

linhardt has no idea that their destination is now in sight and nearing.

[astrasword]

Efficient? That is decidedly not the word Ayra would have used here, even with the elaboration that follows. In fact, she would be hard pressed to think of something less efficient than casting spells with opposite effects just for the hell of it. Or rather, just to see what happens...

But then, it’s all the same to her. Saint Od knows she’s no researcher, after all.

And so, though she approves of Linhardt’s caution and even returns their smile, Ayra tunes most of their answer out. She asked only about his own Crest for a reason, and yet — never mind, Linhardt does get to the point and keeps his mouth shut after, too.

Ayra knows better than to take this respite for granted, though. There’s absolutely no guarantee that Linhardt won’t resume her annoying chant... And her target shouldn’t be an envelope either way.

“Linhardt?” The first call goes unheard, so the second is harsher. “Linhardt! We have arrived. If you need me, I’ll be helping with repairs around town.”

She turns on her heel before they answer, naturally.

fin.

[warpaway]

bernie's grand adventure

[hermidetta]

anybody who knows bernadetta von varley would expect her to hate speaking, and they'd all be right if not for the caveat that they'd just have to find the right topic. even in abyss's dark, linhardt might be able to hear in her voice how her face lights right up, coupled with her unconscious little swing of their joined hands.

“well, it sounds a little gross, but the ones i just mentioned do eat bat droppings instead.” and when bernadetta fantasizes of living life just like a carnivorous plant, with food bringing itself right to her door, bat droppings are hardly her idea of what's appetizing. neither are insects, really—but that's beside the point.

“a lot of them can usually survive from water and sunlight,” she continues, “but since their natural habitats don't have many nutrients in the soil, they started adapting to eat insects. maybe it's like, um... if you get in trouble and your parents won't let you eat, you start improvising. you'll try dirt, leaves, mushrooms...”

but her inspiration for such an analogy was neither here nor there. so, carrying on, and following his lead: “oh! will you let me read that study when we get back, though? i don't have much to trade with you, but you like crest research and medicine, right? i can keep an eye out if i ever see anything like that.”

[warpaway]

the more bernadetta speaks on it, the more linhardt considers facts they've never before thought deeply upon.

“when you say it out loud, it makes much more sense,” he comments.

“but regardless, don't worry about making any trades with me.  the implications of the pea pod experiment are staggering. just having some one to discuss them with would be a treat in its own right.”

they turn to smile down at her.  it's much nicer to see her like this - talking at length about a subject she knows, excitedly fidgeting with their conjoined hands.  yes, linhardt has long suspected that they and bernadetta have so much in common, but it's not only vindicating to see that they were correct - it's fun.

the only stumbling block between them is to be found within an analogy he cannot relate to.  why would he ever eat dirt?  why would his parents force him?

it's an unsettling little detail in what otherwise is a lovely conversation.  no matter how linhardt may try to dismiss it (as, for example, bernadetta's extraordinary imagination) he can't return to the state before she'd mentioned it.

still, they would like this day to be nice for her, so they don't interrogate it.  “this passage,” they direct her with a gesture, “two more turns and we're there.  anyway, what i was saying is that plants eat dead material and feces regardless, so these strange ones are only odd in how they do it, no?”

[warpaway]

i can turn anything into my hyperfixation just try me

wk 1 || ethereal ball 2026

[warpaway]

@thracianblood 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.

"So this button triggers a mechanism which burns the image onto each section of the... Hmm... That can't be it," Travant mutters to himself, narrowing his eyes to try to peek into whatever gaps in the box there are to examine the camera's insides but to no avail. As he moves away from the machine, giving up the task before someone could start looking at him weird, he notices a familiar face. "You're that 'crestology' person from that expedition, aren't you? What a coincidence..."

“before you assume i know anything about those things, think again,” linhardt responds, shaking their head slightly.  “and besides, you'd do better to use my name.  linhardt.”

despite the man's status, linhardt severely doubts he cares about titles or names, so he doesn't bother offering his last name.  in any case, his crest is already sewn into the lacy boarder around his shoulders.

“wait - that brings up a good question.  yes!”

they set aside their bouquet and step forward, then take the strange device to point it towards themself.  then, they take a couple steps back, hoping they're properly in frame.

“do you mind filming me?  i'd love to see if the magicks interact with my crest in any way.”

[thracianblood]

"Linhardt... Yes." He pronounces the name slowly, committing it to memory. The Thracian would do well to remember the person who still speaks to him so casually despite knowing who he really is...

At Linhardt's suggestion, he raises a brow. Does this camera really operate on magic alone? Perhaps it may be the most obvious answer, but Travant can't help but be disappointed if that were the case.

"I don't believe it should, seeing as it only captures what we see with our own eyes..." But if it does capture signs of a crest — signs of holy blood — then it would have considerable value to those who seek its power. Still, wouldn't it be a breach in privacy if it were that easy to find one's lineage from pressing a button on a box?

"... I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. Though I doubt anything will come of it."

[warpaway]

“excellent!” linhardt replies.  he steps aside, at what he assumes is a fair distance for a… photograph, was it called? 

they would, naturally, still like the photograph to look good, so they pose appropriately before raising their hand and conjuring their crest.  the shape of cethleann rises from linhardt's palm, floating in gentle green magic.

“ready when you are,” he calls to travant.

[warpaway]

how long of a drop can it possibly be from professor hanneman's window?

[hresvelged]

Edelgard ponders before a reply carefully escapes from her pinkened lips. She can nearly feel her pigment-less hair drape down onto her back with extra poignancy. With the conduction of the experimentations themselves, she knew well the mere thought of removing a crest would prove a difficult feat. Her pupils saturate with unintentional sharpness.

If she cannot free herself of them, she will have to accept it. It is the world that needs its release more. Her arms cross. "Yes, that's quite enough. I see what you're trying to say." A beat. "It would be pointless to go through all that effort to begin with if it was that simple. Nothing about this is." She hadn't intended on delving much deeper— nor will she— but this much is plainly obvious. "You know, you've told me much more than if I had spoken with Professor Hanneman. That may not have been your aim, but thank you even still."

The eye contact she makes is honest. "I can't promise you time will be on your side, but you can gather as much." Adopting a graceful expression, her hand tucks her hair behind her ears. "Regardless. You must keep this to yourself. Understood? I will find out if you don't."

[warpaway]

"if i didn't know you'd better, i'd think this is some kind of joke," linhardt deadpans a response, rolling their eyes. corner linhardt until he lets out a secret, then act as though his lips are loose. something about tragedies and comedies, or another.

"rest assured there are plenty of secrets you'll never get out of me besides," they continue with a dismissive wave of their hand. "but consider that warning part of the reason you'll never hear them."

linhardt yawns then, covering his mouth with a hand only barely. "all things considered, this has been quite exhausting. are we done now?"

[contempenitent]

man vs. machine

Mauvier & Linhardt - Mission Board: Infamous - [Gauntlets +1]

[contempenitent]

Shame floods Mauvier's veins, and he fears it may be tinting his face an unbecoming shade of pink. "It startled me," he says; the cleanest version of the truth. The uglier parts linger unsaid on his tongue: Sombron had eyes everywhere in his domain. Eyes that looked much like these devices. Ensuring all of his subjects prayed sufficiently, and never spoke ill of him.

"But it was a mistake," Mauvier amends, lest Linhardt think that Mauvier is in the habit of punching everything that takes him by surprise. "I shall inform an attendant immediately, and incur whatever punishment the Church deems fit for my indiscretion."

Then Mauvier hones in on Linhardt's use of also. "Ah, Linhardt, you...find the devices disturbing as well? Would you tell me more?"

[warpaway]

linhardt pauses. tell him more? about what? his mouth purses into a pot as he considers his options. telling the truth - that these things make it harder for him to sneak around and conduct his research - will not land well with a man who so readily accepts punishment for what the teenager views as a solely righteous act.

"well, don't you think their very presence is... impolite?" linhardt suggests, making it up as they go along. they believe they do rather well at packiaging the truth into more acceptable appearances, so perhaps they can get away with this.

linhardt shakes his head. "have you met my friend bernadetta? she spends most of her time in her room because she's afraid of people's eyes on her. now, should the church will it, they could watch her from inside her room. for those of us with... an abundance of thoughts on how people perceive us, i can think of little better to exacerbate those unpleasant feelings than these devices.

"it's also rather distracting from the faith, don't you think? i think it's rather obvious i have a uniquely personal relationship with the goddess, and i don't very much like the idea that my faith is constantly being surveilled like this... what if some one finds an issue with my genuine beliefs?"

they fold their arms. "ah, i shouldn't run my mouth like this, should i? if it's the church's will..."

through half-lidded eyes, they gaze darkly at mauvier, focusing on keeping their expression neutral, or maybe a little sad? (how do sad people look?) is it working? they hope it's working.

[warpaway]

if health were measured in points you could probably fit a lot in you

[lionscion]

"...Blinding."

Ares' clipped reply was half-muffled, buried beneath a hand flexing two fingers to rub away the white that had suddenly hammered his eyes. Anything else he would have, or should have, gleaned from such a flood of magic was lost the instant he shot a small peek over his shoulder just as it was cast.

All else that remained was apparent when he finally dragged his fingers down his cheeks and revealed a tired and bloodshot glare to Linhardt.

"Test my patience again, and it'll be your turn to feel something."

[warpaway]

"that wasn't the point..." linhardt murmurs. "i need you to focus on how it feels. close your eyes if you must, we're looking at the interaction between spell and body."

and, because threats have never deterred linhardt before in his life, he casts another heal spell.

and then another, because the first one doesn't see his crest springing to life between them.

"there it is - did you feel anything strange? an interaction between our crests, perhaps?"

[boundlesschaos]

oh boy 3AM! (gets out my tackle box)

Non-Mission - Goddess Messenger [Fishing Prompt]

[boundlesschaos]

And for a little bit longer, that is how it remains. It's quiet - only the wind and the waves provide a break from the silence. Watchful eyes follow the fishing line, tracking every tug and pull that comes from the equally curious fish underwater. but these shy nudges are nothing compared to the might of the rumored legendary fish. For now, none of the fish bite, either - just test the waters in order to determine just what had entered their domain. After a few minutes, Niamh determines that the fisherman that she's encountered this evening is going to rat her out, just as she will not rat them. She departs from the bushes, her footsteps light as she joins them by the docks. "You're out late..." she whispers, her movements slow, careful. "That's smart...it was really loud during the day..."

She doesn't have to ask if the person before her is searching for the fish of current fame. Still, her expression projects that question towards them. She really does want to know, even if it is (probably) obvious.

[warpaway]

if linhardt isn't alone, they don't hear about it for a good while. they feel it, through the rod, with little curious nibbles and bumps. the fish interested in the strange glimmer at the end of linhardt's line aren't interested enough to take a bite, which is well enough considering the bait he's using is specifically for the legend.

in the quiet night, the only ambience is to be found in the gentle rustling of the leaves of the trees or bushes. though the person linhardt had glimpsed earlier moves quietly, he's still aware of their footsteps, light as they are, across the cobblestone, then the dock he sits upon.

"yes," linhardt agrees. they don't match their companion's whisper, though they neither speak at a common volume. it's low-effort speaking: their favorite.

they turn to appraise their current fishing-buddy and finds they don't recognize her in the slightest. well, it hardly matters. the companionship so far has been pleasant, even if the two are strangers.

"fascinating, isn't it? how people could seek something while actively deterring it from them. like chasing shadows, but with added irony."

[warpaway]

unstoppable force v. unshakeable object

mission prompt || heavy armor +1

[princeofopenness]

A little detail suddenly derailed the entire conversation. Though it was something Alfonse found deeply embarrassing, he was happy for it, because being slightly embarrassed was much better than having Linhardt continue to question him. Besides, if Linhardt was going to go around telling people anything about Alfonse (which Linhardt very well might-- Alfonse did not think them the best at keeping secrets), Alfonse would prefer it to be the ultimately inconsequential fact rather than the fundamental nature of Askr.

A small sigh left Alfonse as Linhardt began chattering away, speculating on the nature of Alfonse's condition. He wasn't entirely certain how much he would be able to answer of the questions that would surely follow. After all, it wasn't like Alfonse had ever experienced life from a different perspective than his own. He had never lived without this condition. There was nothing for him to compare to, no baseline he could use as definitive proof anything was actually different for him. For all Alfonse knew, everyone else had the same struggle and had simply adapted to it. Maybe the strangest thing about Alfonse was just that he acknowledged this trouble.

"Yes, it's quite the bother," Alfonse agreed. "Back in my home, we tend to have a lot of celebrations that involve dressing up in costumes for the relevant season or holiday. It's a silly tradition, one that embarrasses me when I have to partake in it, but it is incidentally quite useful. Everyone's costumes tend to be distinct from one another, often carrying some detail of their personality with it that makes identification briefly easier."

The thought of Linhardt wearing rabbit ears with a long skirt and carrying a pillow sprang to mind immediately.

"These are typically larger details than a hair ornament, however. That does help, make no mistake, but... well, I actually happen to know quite a lot of people with long, green hair and some manner of ornamentation like a ribbon or hair tie. Lady Lyndis of Sacae, for starters, though she tends to dress in traditional attire, which makes her easy for me to identify."

[warpaway]

“lyndis,” linhardt repeats, with a small guffaw. how ironic that alfonse should know two lins by their green hair and hair ornament. she should hope never to be mistaken for him!

regardless, he continues without thinking too much of it, launching into a series of questions that he comes to find alfonse has little idea how to answer them. they're not too surprised - after all, he had said as much that he can't really compare it to the experiences of another person. linhardt wonders if magic might not be able to replicate his condition, or even alleviate it. and if so, would alfonse even want that?

(it's important to consider if a condition needs 'fixing' before one tries to fix it, after all.)

the two of them had entered the cave as disgruntled acquaintances. linhardt isn't so socially inept as to not realize when people dislike them, but by now that had seemed to wear away as the conversation moved to a more interesting subject.

it makes the whole affair easier, after all. the two are able to while away the hours snowed into this cave as equals in discovery (or so linhardt views it). rather than counting seconds as though they drag like hours, the time passes in almost short order, and before linhardt can fully consider every angle of alfonse's faceless existence, chunky sounds come from the snow covering their alcove, and another knight from the monastery announces to some one else, that the two of them have been found.

linhardt almost complains about missing the opportunity to ask more questions, but the relief of freedom is one they savor far too much. they crawl across the cave in order to be the first one out, and stretch out every muscle in their body they can think of without triggering their aversion to disgusting bodies, before turning, even for a second, to wish alfonse a good-bye.

then they leave, uncaring whether or not he is following them.

→ end.

[verseandrhyme]

slotted spoons don't hold much soup

Anniversary 2025 | Faith +1

[verseandrhyme]

Did no one ever stop to ask if young ladies wanted to be taken away from their homes?

The man's recounting of how the girl had come to arrive here soured Mitama's expression further the more he spoke. It was a tale so distasteful, she even manages to find the overbrewed, disgusting tea tastes sweeter when she sips from the cup. That same cup is swiftly returned to the servant's tray who, not expecting it so soon, wobbles slightly with the weight before catching themselves.

"In that case, you will not mind if we go and speak with the Maiden ourselves, correct?" Though it is posed as a question, her tone makes it very clear that it is not really one. Even the air headed man of the house pauses his self-grandstanding to look at her with clear confusion.

"What? Excuse me, but I don't think-"

"That is alright, I can think plenty for the lot of us." In fact, let her demonstrate just that. While the man struggles to catch the words he wants to say, Mitama brushes past him and begins to make her way down the hall he had emerged from. She may not know where exactly the girl is kept, but she can make her own assumptions and go from there. "Is her room down this way?"

"My lady I must insist-"

"Take your time, Linhardt, I will make my own way to it."

[warpaway]

though mitama suggests the noblemen can parley without her, the count rushes from the room to follow her, clearly worried over something or other. that in and of itself is suspicious enough, and in the interest of preventing mitama from going it alone, linhardt sets their own tea on the butler’s tray (poor man seems to be startled by everything happening in this moment) and takes another cake as they begin following the count out of the parlor in their own measured and casual pace.

“well, mitama, does it seem suspicious that our magnanimous host is so furtively following you?”

the count balks, realizing linhardt is following this procession with a glance over his shoulder.

“My lady Mitama,” the count continues as he redirects his attention to which teenager he must perceive as the bigger threat. “I simply must insist you allow the woman a chance to – why, a chance to rest, yes. You see, she just returned from a long holiday at her hometown, and -”

“the village she was so eager to leave?” linhardt questions.

“Y-yes, of course, you understand she still loves and misses her family…”

“not enough to stay in town, though,” linhardt responds.

the count lets out a low grumble, clearly frustrated.

“if you need a moment away from this braggart,” linhardt calls to mitama, rather than acknowledge the sound, “let me know.”

[fluxrspar]

stories end and pages fold

“A noblewoman from Adrestia is pleading that you rescue her wife…” | Mission Board: Anniversary | Reason +1

[fluxrspar]

It is a moment before Selena realizes their gaze had drifted to the portraits; and when she has noticed this, her own eyes follow, and it is hard to imagine the two were a piece of a pair.

(Ghastly, hollowed; her wife takes on the appearance of a phantom more than one who was once living—and Selena can’t help but wonder how it had gotten this far; how it looked in progression, before it turned from uncanny to unreal.)

It’s unsettling; but the professor remembers composure before anything uncomfortable can seep through. She doesn’t believe Linhardt’s caution was entirely required—for this was no tale, and if the Mrs was fine, what would happen to them?—but she also knows better than to express such. (What was efficient was not necessarily what was best—perhaps for Selena, but for her allies?) If he was unsettled, then she would remain.

“We don’t have to, if you would prefer to stick together. You can examine the portrait for now, and then we can speak to the Mrs’ wife afterwards.” (Then: a belated revelation, but perhaps one still necessary–) She turns to their host, perhaps a tad embarrassed: “Apologies, but what should we call the both of you?”

“Oh, it’s alright,” the woman smiles. “You may call me Rosemary—with or without the ‘Lady’. My wife is Lady Carmilla.”

“Thank you, Lady Rosemary,” Selena smiles with a nod. “We’re going to be a moment, but if you don’t mind, could you fetch Lady Carmilla for us?”

“Of course,” the Mrs accepts, already making to leave the room. “Just give me a moment. Wait here.”

“Thank you.”

[warpaway]

rosemary makes her exit, leaving linhardt alone with his professor-chaperone and the ghastly painting.  the painting itself feels like an entity - if he and selena were to leave the room, too, there would still be some one here.

still, nothing ventured, or something.

he has a spell prepared for things like this.  it's a modified diagnostic spell.  many healers use the original chant to visualize injuries or determine if the source of a problem is from the body or from outside of it.  linhardt, who thinks such a thing is disgusting to consider, uses his to see lingering magicks on items, or try and determine the shape of mechanism for certain engineering constructs.

it's useful for his work, which often sees him delving into places people like him were guarded against.

in this instance, when linhardt's hand glows gently and he hovers it across the painting, it feels more like the original purpose of the spell.

it feels as though the painting is that third entity in the room, and it feels as though whatever ailment it suffers from is decidedly an internal problem.

the nausea that often takes linhardt when he makes such discoveries of the flesh in his healing takes him now, and because he had expected to look at an object and not a person, he withdraws his hand suddenly, physically recoiling with a groan as his face pales.

he turns, hunching over and hugging his stomach.

“i feel sick,” he explains, voice thready.

if nothing else, he has learned this: something is wrong with that painting.

[warpaway]

girls in crestology

[sanakialtina]

Varley? The house of the Crest of Indech? What he means by that pointed comment, she can't begin to guess, even as she dutifully jots down the author's name. "That's fine. I don't mind omissions or bias, as long as it gives me a starting point. Isn't understanding why history was presented with fault also part of the exercise?"

It's considerate of him to mention, but he needn't have worried. If Sanaki wasn't capable of critical analysis as a baseline, she would be long dead.

She looks back up, considering how to thank him for his help. "You are quite knowledgeable," she asserts decisively. "I will certainly find you again for recommendations on more detailed reading material."

Her stray glance lands on the crestology tome that he had so hurriedly copied from earlier. "...and keep a better eye on the due dates of my own library loans," she adds, with a wry smile.

[warpaway]

“must you…?” linhardt drawls.  their attention is now to their own notes, spending only a sliver on actually replying to sanaki.

“i'd very much prefer you simply did your research on your own and leave me to mine, if it's all the same to you.  unless you come up with some major discovery not found in any tome.  i suppose in that case, i'd welcome you seeking me out.

“well, anyway.”

linhardt raises their hand in a farewell, to be polite, and in the same mind, he offers her a “goodbye” before completely walking off.

→ end.

[warpaway]

life is like a box of chocolates and i am going to look at the back of the box and eat all of the coconut ones

+ gauntlet || epidemic

[pastbelow]

"Yes," Shigure replies, putting down his brush for a moment to look up at the newcomer in turn. "Well, not writing them, exactly. I'm just adding a custom drawing to the front, the message inside is still going to be from the sender of the gift."

Is that strange? Shigure considers the commission he's working on, with two clerics running hand in hand through a field of flowers, the sunset bathing the whole scene in warm yellows. Some people might say that for a truly devoted gift, everything, from the candy to the card to the message within it, should be hand-crafted by the sender—but selfishly, Shigure's glad that his clients are so willing to share a piece of their love. However awkwardly the opportunity had come about, he's rarely felt more gratified by a press of pen to paper, a sweep of color across the page, than when working on these pieces.

It's not merely that he's lonely, he knows. It's the assurance that his art is preserving something; that it will mean something to somebody.

He offers a warm smile to the green-haired student. "I'm almost done with this one, actually. Would you like me to make a card for your gift as well?" His gaze drifts, somewhat curiously, to the box of chocolates in their hands. "If you want, you can tell me a little about who you're giving those chocolates to."

[warpaway]

“yes!” linhardt replies immediately, their answer preceding any good reply of what they would want the artist to draw.  “it's for my best friend, caspar von bergliez.”

if caspar had met this man, linhardt is certain that he would remember caspar.  caspar is just like that.  (linhardt's bias aside.)

“but… as for what i would ask you to draw…  that's a bit more complicated…”

he hums, thinking.  what sort of picture would caspar like to receive?  linhardt glances at the artist's current work - two women running hand in hand through a sunny field.  that's cute, but that's not the sort of thing linhardt thinks caspar would want.  a picture of caspar and linhardt doing something fun together?  well, linhardt would like it, but this isn't for him.

“can you draw some one just from a description?” they ask instead.

[warpaway]

first of all, my elbows AREN'T greasy.

excavation || reason +1

[far-from-common]

“I am not sure as to why it happened, but it seems that something is in fact causing our regular magic to turn all horrid. If you need more convincing, I am perfectly happy for you to try and heal me; I shall not even move out of the way.” Sure, it shall most likely be very painful, but at the least it will give them more information about what is going on. That, and it will hopefully get Linhardt to trust her at least a bit more. She is just about to start a big, grandiose speech about how they have several ways they can approach this situation, when it fully dawns on her just how hard her companion is taking it. Sitting down next to them, L’Arachel offers them a concerned look. “Would you like to talk about this entire situation?” She considers saying more, but remains silent. It would not do to pester him more before he is ready to speak.

[warpaway]

linhardt doesn't realize how poorly they're taking these revelations until l'arachel points it out.  they're surprised, too, that she could see that in them.  it's simple fact that they're strange and uncommon in how they behave, so either l'arachel is especially perceptive, or…

well, it doesn't matter so much to him, right now.  she asked him a question, and he will answer.

“i don't know what good i am without magic,” they respond, their voice quieter than they'd intended.

“i bear saint cethleann's crest.  my whole life, that's been the only thing people expect of me that i've been perfectly fine with fulfilling.  and to those without magic…”

linhardt's lip curls upwards in disgust, his face losing a bit of color.  “they have to deal more with the most disgusting aspects of healing.  all the sinew and the… blood.”

[warpaway]

june housekeeping

hi hi <3

obligatory: i'll be focusing on ball threads etc. idc about wrapping them up expeditiously, or anything like that.

personally i don't have any interest in this month's plots, however, if you think you'd like one of them with linhardt, soren, or ophelia, feel free to reach out to me! i love plotting and will probably agree. i do need some new threads!!!

that's about it! ya'll know how to contact me etc etc

[warpaway]

may activity

activity check -> passed!

skill points 32 -> 33!

current threads: view the tracker!

completed threads:

a code-a :: 2,698 words  

feelings nestled in embers :: 1,769 words  

something like a metaphor :: 1,874 words

[warpaway]

i think we're alone now

cont. from -> 🩵

[warpaway]

when caspar is quiet, linhardt knows he's thinking.  he's probably thinking several things in the interim before his sounds and words, and all of them are mysteries to unravel for linhardt.

he follows, though, and that's what matters.

“more like… the goddess tower,” they reply, “but considering how popular the rumors and how adamant the church, it'll be far easier to get away with this in one of the empty rooms.”

he pauses at a doorway of a randomly chosen room and peers inside.  it's too dark to see clearly, but it seems fine enough and linhardt is feeling a little impatient.

“though, i must ask: would you break into the holy tomb with me?  i'd love to have a -”

they pause, smiling, and turn towards their date. “- a partner.  for my research.”

linhardt can just make out caspar's silhouette in the dark, and the more they stare at him, the better his features come into focus, but he's never completely visible.

they raise one hand and gently cross a single finger against his jaw.  it's the suggestion of a caress, but more curious and tentative.  linhardt can't tell if he hesitates for his own sake, or for caspar's.  in that, perhaps, he will let caspar decide.

@berglietz