IN HUMILITY

blue lions student affiliated with

[worldlyseer]

OOC. Not sure if I made it clear, so I’m making this quick post to say that Elphin is posing as a bard at the ball. Feel free to say hi to him or shoot me a message if you feel the reverse makes more sense and we can work something out.

Although Elphin is technically already a student, I’m playing it off similar to the way Byleth interacts with students in the first chapter before they know Byleth is going to be their professor. Astute muses might catch on that Elphin has a ring and is collecting signatures and are welcome to speculate what that could possibly mean. 

[worldlyseer]

“Hm?” Was that voice–delicate as birdsong–speaking with him? Lewyn turns on his heel to find another of his kind: a fellow troubadour, easily recognized by someone in the same trade. He supposes it’s sort of like how thieves could instinctually tell each other apart from the commonfolk: just some sixth sense they had as bards. “Takes one to know one, I suppose.” Lewyn’s voice, though soft indeed, has a much more confident tone to it. It’s cool, and wags about on his silvered tongue, “But come, friend. We ain’t gotta be mutually exclusive. How about a duet instead? What do you play? I’ve only got my lyre on me, but I can run out and grab something to compliment what you’ve got.”

[ | Continued from here // @concealedbybreeze 𝄞 | ]

“Peace,” he hums a laugh-like verse, hand raised and poised to decline the generous suggestion. There’s an effortlessly airy quality to the other’s tone that Elphin would liken to the refreshing winds that blow through the capital on a pleasant afternoon.

“You need not trouble yourself. This harp is my preferred instrument of choice, though as you can imagine, it is not exactly suited for such events without proper accompaniment.” Unquestionably lovely as the sounds it produces may be, he cannot fault those who would favor a more upbeat tempo to dance to. He plucks its strings in demonstration, melody lost and barely audible at present.

The Western Isles had not lacked for talented bards, but Elphin’s upbringing had advantaged him, lending to his notoriety among them. And gathering a following had not been one of his priorities during his stay. This to say, any past duet he participated in had been for a small, intimate assembly of allies around a campfire rather than on a grandiose stage. “My name is Elphin,” he offers freely. “Might I inquire yours?”

[worldlyseer]

“Hm?”

Now who’s this?

“Lively’s one way of putting it…” It’s an answer mumbled before he remembers himself. Fist curls to his mouth as he briefly clears his throat. “A busy evening, yes,” he better affirms with his more typical, assured volume. He shrugs. “Not really my pace, so you’ll have to forgive me if my small talk is lacking.”

Not if, but when, really. Just a matter of time.

On the topic of food, however… Perhaps the other has struck gold.

“Hah! You might regret asking - I’m not picky, I’ll have you know. Let’s see now…”

He looks Elphin over a moment, single brow quirked in appraisal. A lithe individual, fair… And a bard, from the looks of it. Hector frowns.

“I was going to suggest the cheese ball sticks but you probably need your hands clean, huh. Mm.”

A snap of his fingers.

“On second thought, you can just use a napkin, so yeah. Go for the cheese ball sticks. OR, if you’re feelin’ feisty, just grab a fistful of the shrimp.”

He nods. Yeah. Good stuff. Then, scratching idly at his cheek, he grins sheepisly. “Hard to go wrong with anything on the menu, really. Think they tried their hand some fare from abroad, even… Might find something from home…”

A pause as he plucks one of the aforementioned shrimp into his mouth. “… Wherever home is for ya.”

[ | Continued from here // @braveryinblue 𝄞 | ]

"That may be preferable, yes” Elphin assents, watching the blue-haired guest more closely than any of his recommendations. It is discreetly that he notes the other’s chosen attire and style of dress, whispers of fashion popular throughout Elibe, though not necessarily exclusive to the continent, he decides. 

With elegance befitting his station, he obtains a single shrimp from the ring, simply staring at the creature. The shell around the tail remains firm in his hold and its fresh scent seems to indicate it was recently prepared, likely still alive not long before the event opened its doors. Unfortunately, even before the incident that altered Elphin’s life, he had never cared for seafood as much as those living on the Western Isles for who it was a dietary staple. His teeth cleanly sever a small, child-sized portion of shrimp off the top with a quiet crunch and he finishes chewing in thought before speaking again.

“It is thoughtful of the archbishop to take that into consideration when composing the menu. Has anything of your own homeland been included in the selection? I am afraid I do not recognize any delicacies from Elibe, but my eyes are... somewhat lacking.”

“Regardless, I believe your company more valuable than you think.”

[worldlyseer]

"Mr. Bard, Mr. Bard!" A tug on his sleeve. "Do you know the song Wonderwall, by the desert bards 'Oasis'? Can you play it? Pretty pleaaase!"

Whether in judgment or defeat, Elphin’s eyes narrow to near slits. The first request of the night sounds suspiciously in line with one that Larum might make were she present and, unlike the daughter of Gerenal Douglas, he lacks any of the same incentive to humor it. He does, in fact, know the song no matter how tempted he may be to claim otherwise.

The silence he briefly lapses into thereafter is defiant as if the appeal might be rescinded once he opens his eyes anew. In contemplation, he reasons with himself that rejection alone should not spoil one’s evening, but upon remembering he’d given his word several times tonight that he would gladly play anything asked of him, relents.

“...Very well.”

[worldlyseer]

Julius examines the instrument in the bard's hands. He's seen plenty like it, certainly, and has met a number of musicians and storytellers roaming Jugdral. But why is this one here? This was a school, and the ball - like all things at Garreg Mach - merely a game of pretend. Still, a smirk snakes across his lips below his mask. "Could the academy not afford a full ensemble? How are you to perform dance music if the notes hardly rise above the chatter of the guests?"

It’s amusing at best, but he withholds any laughter the juvenile barb might have elicited. Elphin half-turns, expecting to meet some parody of nobility dressed in costly finery. And, to his credit, the individual is parading about in a dark ensemble consisting of expensive fabrics and trimmings, the solid swatches of black complemented by accents that echo long, cherry-red locks. While it may not speak to Elphin’s personal tastes, he can understand the general thoughts behind the concept. However, the mask on full display does catch his interest. He thinks, pedantically and, moreover, ironically one concealing their own identity should not speak in such disparaging tones. These gatherings do unfortunately attract this type in droves though and he has long resigned himself to suffering a lifetime of similar dealings.

“You misunderstand, my lord,” Elphin delivers in redress with a practiced poise that would do the instructors of his youth proud. “I carry this humble harp wherever I go as a token of remembrance.” A comfort too for the freedom it has provided him, he does not share. “Which is not to say it cannot be played, however as you have observed, it would easily be drowned out by the ongoing celebration.”

Unafraid, he holds the other’s gaze for a moment as if to suggest he can see through the guise before breaking away, on his own time. “I apologize that I cannot spare time to idle with you. If it pleases you, I am proficient in other instruments. You are welcome to request something more attractive to your sensibilities.” A dirge, perhaps, considering the person is dressed more appropriately for a funeral than a dance. It is surely quite the conundrum that one might seek to conceal their face whilst standing out to that degree. 

[worldlyseer]

It is in neither the attire donned of a prince nor student that Elphin nonchalantly strides into the ballroom with measured steps, taking stock of his surroundings as one who has volunteered his musical facilities throughout the evening to play a selection of approved pieces. 

No stranger to the networking aspect of social functions, he navigates a sea of new faces, undaunted by Fodlan’s aristocracy who outwardly appear no more imperious than those of Etruria. They are young still, green as Myrddin himself was once. He no longer has a taste for such lavish displays of wealth, but he cannot forget himself here. He knows how to play their games and, in more ways than one, play he does. 

List of Engagements

1. K.

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