LIVE TO SERVE.

ETHEREAL BALL 2026

As amused as Niles is at the offer, it takes a moment of him staring at the other. There's some hesitance in accepting it though he pockets it without much of a second thought. He knew what Jakob was implying and it almost made him chuckle. Camilla hadn't had a problem kissing him before they arrived but instead of saying that, he forced a half smile.

"Well, aren't you subtle? I bet you wouldn't dare give one to Corrin, would you?" Said smile is turning more into a smirk now and he tries to keep the lilt in his voice. His tone didn't suggest he was grateful but he couldn't help but try to push Jakob's buttons anyways. "But fine, if you think a lowlife like me needs a little more help in seeming decent, then I should thank you for your trouble, right?"

As soon as relieved of his offered mint, Jakob snatches his hand away with a scrunched expression of barely concealed disgust. Niles; ever as unpleasant from single eye to lilting voice to tippiest toe. He has never enjoyed crossing paths with his fellow Nohrian retainer, and has always, always—always—thanked his lucky stars that such a miscreant as Niles served under Lord Leo's household instead.

Another man's trash is another man's treasure went the saying; in this case, another man's trash means that it is not his.

"I've no need for your thanks nor for your flower," Jakob says, appearing briefly constipated as the man decides to pat his shoulder. It has nothing to do with disrupted bowels, but rather the desire to disembowel. The state of his repulsion is clear, appearing much like someone who has stepped into a muddy puddle. And, relevantly, what is one to do when they step into muddy puddles?

They ensure that it never happens again.

"I request from here forward that all our exchanges be one-sided. I will give to you, and you will burden me with nothing. I will speak to you, and you will unleash not a peep in return. Now, let us begin with this exercise: good day to you, Niles."

(Why did she feel like such a selfish coward? Why did her jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly?)

To date, that art has been under no compromise. All throughout their dance, his master gave no signal of gloom, no reason to suspect her reaction to be any different than happiness. To suspect even himself in his understanding of one he has striven to know better and longer than anyone else.

That is, until she glances away.

". . .Milady?" says Jakob, startled and alerted all at once; whose silvery head raises on the end of a too-straight neck like the pricking of a schnauzer's ears. "I do beg your forgiveness. If I have offended you—if I've spoken out of line—I should like to convey that it was not my intention."

The fingers in his vest curl. It need not be Jakob's knowledge that proves handy, but simply all those with eyes and ears and senses about them. A flower goes on to press into his palm. When Jakob looks down, it seems a beautiful yet slightly bruised thing - as if packed down under stress by the cage of too-tight fingers. When he should look up, it is to the thundering of feet that ferries his very reason for living away.

"Corrin. . ."

She is upset; his lady, his light, his master and obligation. And, even more horrifyingly, Jakob cannot determine why. Where a warm weight once was, hand-in-own-hand, is an empty space he silently regards.

So Finn is here.

Jakob knows this, of course; only just recently had he spotted the other man from afar; only just recently at that had he exchanged a few tittering words regarding him. He fixes the knight with a look as he draws near and makes no move to countervail this by putting distance between them. Jakob's tolerance is much rarer than Jakob's intolerance; the magnitude of generosity being practiced here is clear.

"Hm. Not attached to Lord Leif at the hip today? I'd have thought my advice reached you last time we spoke," he jokes in place of greeting, before his eyes drop down to the bowlful of a cold sweet treat between Finn's hands. Intriguing. What a man chooses to put in his stomach says much about him. Like, for example, the way Jakob takes his coffee uncompromisingly black. No milk. No sugar. No fun and happiness.

"Yours? I didn't expect you to have a sweet tooth."

Because, of course, it doesn't possibly occur to Jakob that it would be for him. Not that he'd accept something so childishly sweet in the first place.

Though a little hovering was permissible, before any one could start getting ideas. He knew what their parents were like.

"I do not." The bowl is more of a burden than anything. Since it had come into his possession, it had already begun the slow process of melting. He doubted it would be long before he was burdened with a bowl of sugary soup. "One of the staff members shoved it into my hands, saying something about sweetening up my mood. She refused to take it back." He did not believe that he needed such sweetening. "I don't suppose that you would be interested in taking it off my hands?" He doubts it.

The change in subject is abrupt. Finn blinks before turning to see just who it is that Jakob is referring to. "Him? Really. He was complimentary when we spoke earlier." He sighs and shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. It would be unbecoming to dress in a way that distracts from my lord. Not that I know anything about fashion. I would have looked more foolish in making an attempt."

Scrape away the dignified exterior of the butler and a less proper core would be revealed. A stingy man who took no obligation onto himself beyond strictly needed, or strictly Corrin's; an unforgiving tongue that stated exactly as the mind felt; one who endured zero compromise. Acquaintance or not, Finn's burdens were Finn's own.

The quiet motion of the man in question goes on to draw Jakob's attention. A gift and a word of thanks? Oh, but he is undeserving. Beyond truly.

"There you go again, feeling gratitude for something I did just because I wanted to. That hogwash is enough to make my ears shrivel." He glowers, though the flower is accepted. It's a pretty thing; a suitable grade of quality and elegance for his good lady and surprisingly real. Perhaps he will gift it to her when next they meet.

"A final word. Do not be so trusting of others and take them at face value." Finn was surrounded by a stifling air of duty and melancholy that made Jakob feel like he was looking at a corpse. There was no such thing as a pleasant-to-look-at or sweet-smelling corpse, mind you. "You seem a flaky man, the kind who is liable to succumb to all manner of trickery. That attitude of yours will be sure to cause your lord a headache. That's all."

Where Corrin may feel overwhelmed by trying to keep pace with another, Jakob has always managed to be a perfect complement to every aspect of her character. If Corrin struggled with resolve, his was twice as strong to provide enough for them both; if Corrin's steps lagged behind by even a fraction of a second, he would bend to ensure that she remained in tempo with the way that he moved. Now, even as she tries her hardest to keep up, a breathy laugh escapes when they turn. "You know, I never have been able to keep up with you in things like this," She mumbles with a smile, closer to him than she would normally be. The cut of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the way his bangs fell into his face, and the feeling of her hands tucked securely into his... There's nothing better, she's certain, and her night will have easily peaked at this moment. "But you still always make it work. You amaze me, honestly!" A particular motion in their dance brings her close to his chest, cheeks flushed with a combination of exertion and.... something else that she can't quite put her finger on. "I'm lucky. Lucky to have ever had you at my side." Lucky to hopefully never spend another moment away, feeling complete once the other half of her life returned to her side. "Thank you, Jakob. You coming here with me... it's already made this night wonderful."

These are the words of a man present from the very start. Since there were gaps in Corrin's teeth, a clumsiness to the way she moved, and an embarrassing lack of savoir faire in her speech. All expected of a prisoner-princess plucked from dragons knew where to grace the bars of the cold northern fortress with her innocence. It means they are truthful words as well - those that Jakob means.

He leads her as he always has, foot sweeping to left, hand twirling her to right, movements altogether smooth yet flurried. Unceasing, unrelenting, for even if they tire, they must indulge the impression they are anything but. The Nohrians move with such passion and intensity; so bold that all those who dance in their way are transformed as if into completely different people. A difficult and truly advanced regime as well as one of the first that Jakob ever taught to Corrin.

To be Nohrian is to adopt Nohrian custom; to assimilate even the smallest facets of a culture in the hopes of becoming whole, becoming them. Corrin in that endeavor who has worked twice as hard; Jakob who has been there every step and waltz of the way.

"Yours has always been high albeit unnecessary praise. If I could not adapt to your movements, then my very skill as your butler would be put into question." Of course, such 'movements' are to say that she has remnants of her old mistakes still. A half-beat too slow, or at times too fast, though the pauses between these have become fewer and further in between. Then there is Jakob who accounts for it all, pressing them away as smoothly as a dogeared page set right.

...what does jakob mean by this? one look at the man's face, and shigure decides he doesn't really want to find out.

he smiles, as warmly as he can manage. "thank you, sir. please accept one of my tulips in exchange---I heard that many of the attendees are collecting them."

with a respectful incline of his head, shigure presses the stem of the flower into the butler's hand. "I hope you have a lovely rest of the night---"

Their exchange passes without a whisper from the butler's end, or rather, no opportunity of his own to return a response. Perhaps this is Jakob's own shortcoming - he had stood there in silent deliberation over how to greet the son of Lady Azura and waited overlong. In truth, even now that answer eludes him.

If this boy were anything like Lady Corrin or Lady Elise as a child, he might adapt accordingly - agree to bend to their whims or twist together flower crowns or offer snacks enough to elicit happy squeals. As proper and bookish as Prince Leo, or belligerent as Princess Camilla, and he would do no less than the the same, lending his aid wherever needed by retrieving tomes and polishing weapons, masterfully fielding each royal's idiosyncrasies and preferences all the while.

But, a soft-spoken and mysterious sort like Shigure? A young man so little known to Jakob as to leave him completely absent of ideas on how to be helpful? Jakob watches the boy hastily leave with his mint in tow. There is no other conclusion than that Jakob has proven burdensome and Shigure accepts his mint purely for that fact.

Laslow stares at the offered mint. It's not that he doesn't appreciate when someone lets him know he needs to freshen up--after all, how embarrassing would it be to dance up close with someone, or steal multiple kisses from his date, if he smelled bad?

No, what he doesn't appreciate is the condescension rolling off of Jakob, evident even in his perfectly poised hand. Laslow raises an eyebrow as he glares at the butler. "I don't think I like what you're implying here."

His eyes narrow. Nothing about Jakob or his intentions are innocent. Everything this guy does has an ulterior motive, no matter how staunchly he protests otherwise.

Lips twist into a frown. Yeah, so what if he deals with self-doubt? If being confident makes him act like a superior jerk, he'll take the anxiety any day.

Well. Sort of. Anyway.

Laslow's jaw goes slack as the flowers rain down. What is this guy's problem? Is this--

"Hey!" His voice is too loud. People will stare, have probably turned their heads already, but he forges on. "Is this your way of asking for a duel? I accept, you jerk!" Smoothly, he bends down, picking up one of the fallen hyacinths.

It is not absolute silence, mind, for the Ethereal Ball is at hand. Clinking glass and tromping heel are all a dime a dozen. But even without their influence, there would be something else; a sound for which one need not strain their ears to catch. The animated heave of Laslow's chest. A noisy bout of his breathing. Weakness so very, very plain to see from a man that simply made it too damn easy.

Jakob smiles and turns; it is not a smile that reaches his eyes, and it is not a turn that wheels him totally around. He glances over his shoulder as if a mere urchin has tugged on his sleeve begging for the coins at the bottom of his purse. All in half-measure because half his attention is what Laslow deserves.

"What upstanding behavior, causing a ruckus. Is this what your betters taught you, Laslow? Your parents? You must do them great pride, I'm sure." The words end on a snort; an absence of care for the sanctity of parents. After all, of these things Jakob has had none. He shrugs, motion airy and light like the answer is naught but obvious.

"If you think I will walk away, you would be right. I've all reason to, you see. I will walk away because I am the better man. I will walk away because I know more than to cause a scene that shall reflect poorly on my master. Finally, I will walk away because I know a complete waste of time when I see one."

He smiles. This time it is sincere. "Good evening to you."

(gossip except it's JAKOB gossiping about laslow to laslow's daughter do you see my vision)

SHE HATES TO ADMIT IT!           she really does, because like. soleil tries very hard to not say anything that she wouldn't be proud of. she's been a part of those circles before and gotten her name tangled up in all manner of drama! ( nevermind that it's often because she's flirted with one too many village girls, and word got back to and from each other. ) but, she can't deny that it is a difficult pill to swallow in seeing her father with lady nel on his arm.

she'd been her lady love ( lady? affection? love might've been too strong ) first, but woe!

woe!

this is what happens when she leaves!

the heart goes with it, and all that—but no resentment lives in her all the same, though you wouldn't think it from the stern way that she shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest and points out the unfortunate seam puckering out of the corner of her father's dress shirt from where a gem was meant to be. she can't deny it. jakob's right! "it's so sad! if he'd have asked me, i could've found a much nicer outfit," not a lie, it is technically true, "but they're matching, and it is pretty cute."

"i see, um."

Elegant blacks. Crisp whites. The butler's uniform is an outward manifestation of his duty. To part with this sacred insignia would be like stomping upon its symbol, and in Jakob's unique case, betraying the way of life that has saved him. The same uniform seems only to shine with pride under the glittering lights of the ball, second to none. The man who wears it has spent more time adjusting the hyacinth pinned to his lapel than its complex arrangement of buttons and layers.

Still, he makes a deliberate show of adjusting his cuff. "—What was that, Soleil? I couldn't hear you. My old age rather exceeds me, you see."

That old age of twenty-five and that sharp tone which would put Gunter's pioneering example to rights. A captain of the barracks would speak with less bark and clap than Jakob. There is nothing he takes more seriously than Corrin. Specializing in Corrin.

"I thought I heard you yip something foolish about dancing with Lady Corrin. Twice. That would be an embarrassing admission on your end, because to that I would respond that I have danced with Lady Corrin nothing short of two hundred times. That I have been present for her first dance.

[ 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. (hiiii tsubaki) (HELLOOO JAKOB)

ARE OBSCENE DISPLAYS OF OPULENCE SACRILEGIOUS WITHIN A MONASTERY? Tsubaki wouldn't know, for the Archduke of Izumo— a kingdom widely considered the land of the Gods— has a penchant for indulgence. For all intents and purposes, perhaps he believes this could be normal behavior for places of worship. The Gods, after all, must be entertained.

What isn't normal, however, is when people fail to meet the assignment. Tsubaki has said nothing at first, but he's certainly noticed it the moment he stepped into the ballroom: a shocking number of faculty are dressed dreadfully plain— almost as if they've put in no effort in their attendance! As representatives of the monastery itself—

Well, Tsubaki can't help but feel ashamed on their behalf.

The early commotion of the ball calms as the night extends. Tsubaki lingers at the edge now, content with being an observer. Fingers laced behind him, elegant strides soon find the sky knight positioning himself to the side of a familiar figure.

"Good evening, Jakob." He greets with a customary smile. He nods in acknowledgement, then turns to observe the people before them. "This is quite the glamorous event, isn't it? The monastery certainly stressed tonight's importance and, yet—"

Tsubaki nudges his chin in the direction of a plainly-dressed blue-haired man. "There appears to be some knights and faculty among us who have woefully forgotten the dress code! I mean…" Their voice lowers, "Look at that coat. I dare inquire— Is that a knight or a lost villager?"

Arms mutually clasp behind his back. As he continues to monitor on the sidelines, it is some who take his surveillance as an invitation to come closer. He acknowledges his acquired sky-knight companion with a glance, then a gruff sound of throat.

"That one is a knight," he corrects Tsubaki rather than leaves alone, though he could not possibly fathom why. That Finn served as an ally for all of one mock battle; it is not like they are bosom mates or particular birds of a feather beyond possessing a liege, either. Still, he feels the need to clarify. How discomfiting.

"—As are you. Is such comportment becoming of Lady Sakura's retainer, Tsubaki?"

The pause that ensues straddles the line of an attack.

That is, until he continues:

Laslow stares at the offered mint. It's not that he doesn't appreciate when someone lets him know he needs to freshen up--after all, how embarrassing would it be to dance up close with someone, or steal multiple kisses from his date, if he smelled bad?

No, what he doesn't appreciate is the condescension rolling off of Jakob, evident even in his perfectly poised hand. Laslow raises an eyebrow as he glares at the butler. "I don't think I like what you're implying here."

"And what ever is it that you think I am implying, dearest Laslow? Are you so gutter-minded that you will suspect someone whose intentions are naught but innocent? There is no cure for crippling self-doubt, you know."

Innocent - yeah, right. He scoffs: ". . .But, no, truly. If I wished earnestly to rescue you from your own miasmic breath, a thousand mints would not do! A thousand flowers would be more like it." Such is the cue for such flowers to rain as Jakob drops a handful of his hyacinths to the floor at Laslow's feet. An act elegantly followed up by an adjustment of sleek black lapels.

Then, the sharp click-clack-click of shoes as the butler leisurely sashays away.

Toodles!

Ah.

Ever the model butler faithful old Jakob is! Even so sworn to Corrin, he will not spare other royals from his duty and measure. Molding Corrin and Elise and supporting Camilla is not the extent, that same support shall but naturally extend to Leo. And, of course, in the realm of minty succor, there is far more where that came from!

"One for here, one for the road, or so the saying goes," Jakob quips like a winking grandmother sneaking lunch money into a closed hand as he places another mint into Leo's palm. A purple hyacinth in the same stride. "—Now, Lord Leo, if you should need for more, do not hesitate to toll the bell. I will arrive to deliver them at once."

It is incredibly tempting to throw the very same container that he had mockingly tapped against the back of his head. Perhaps hitting something as solid as a boulder would be the very thing to finally pry the lid free. She can claim that as her excuse, then, and not the satisfaction of any damage that might have potentially befallen Jakob.

"I do not recall asking for etiquette lessons." She returns coldly. The container is snatched once more and dragged back to her side of the station. Rather than attempt further disappoint and frustrating attempts, she places her hand flat atop the lid. The burst of magical energy is brief, and brings with a chill in the air, but soon enough there is a loud pop as the lid is forced free. Mitama quickly scoops out of the chunk of the blizzard spell that she'd used to forcibly push the lid upwards from within the container and dumps it into their shared sink. There. Now who needed who?

"I suppose babes fresh out of the womb is the only sort of true caretaking experience one can expect from your generation." After all, was it not the hired workers assigned to each of her friends (if any existed at all) that had done most of the labour? "I have found children willing to swallow quite obvious lies, given they come from the right people."

Her chocolate is behind. She quickly adds the ingredients that this entire mess had been started by, then does her best to catch up in the steps she had fallen behind in.

Speaking of chocolate…

"Your recommendation to imitate chocolate is quite an interesting one. After all, chocolate is also something that can be known for its bitterness as well." She taps the spoon briefly against the side of the pot before setting it down. "Here, allow me to make an attempt."

Jakob's quickness about the task means that he is not tending to the pot as often as she has. When an opportunity presents itself, Mitama moves to his side of the counter and reaches out to take the pot by the handle. This time, the burst of magic with it carries no chill, and there is no popping sound as Jakob's pot of chocolate is warped outside of the building.

A real world that defined itself by the sudden, unnatural disappearance of his pot to bounds unknown: "You meddlesome little. . .!!"

Git? Chit? Twerp? Many a word cycled through the colorful repository that was Jakob's fathomless mind. The vein at his temple strains as if with the force of not only his anger but the sheer difficulty of deciding which to use. All set aside for a new course.

"Well! I suppose I was granted only what I bargained for. As it were, my company is a churl sired straight from the loins of her equally untaught father. Barbarians shall but beget barbarians, after all." That Azama is not here to defend himself? Jakob frankly does not care. He curses him, curses his holy terror of a spawn, his mother, his father—their mothers and fathers—his entire family line, all his ancestors and then some.

And, after that, he recovers.

The prim retrieval of a second pot lays the groundwork for a new project. As Jakob straightens his lapels and dons a smile, there is no evidence in the least that he has ever fumed. It goes unsaid that, throughout it all, he has not once despaired.