𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚜.

“… i do, yes.” she finally speaks after a moment of (silent) deliberation on her end. she would never be the type to act like her family didn’t exist— no matter how terribly things had gone with them. andrei was still her little brother after everything, even if she didn’t understand how or why he was here in the monastery. 

"Lord Andrei?" he repeats. That's who he had assumed she had meant, but he was smart to not guess outright. There are mysteries in the spaces between her words, ones that Naesala does not think he'll uncover on his own. He thinks that he could reveal the nature of his and Andrei's relationship --

( and that would be ... what? exactly? that the two of them shared a few kisses, that Naesala cares about his well being, and allows himself thoughts of Andrei too often to be a coincidence? )

-- but Naesala isn't sure what words he should use. So, he settles instead: "Andrei is a... friend. I know him, we've spent some time together."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Wolf replies flatly, swinging the mallet again and making no move to allow the stranger any purchase in his space. Alright, maybe he hadn't resisted temptation as much as he meant to. There's just something about the wording that reminds him of the aristocrats, and he bristles a bit for it. That smile, too. "Just like I'm sure you're capable of doing this on your own."

He sighs dramatically, as if that will endear him to the unfriendly stranger, and pushes his hair back. "I was born with hollow bones and a weak constitution," he lies. "It's difficult for me to do even basic things without the assistance of a stronger individual. It's why something like this is neigh impossible for a woman like me to do on my own."

“i’m glad you have someone close to you that understands you like that.” edain smiles in return. “though i may have to ask her how to care for you in the future— in case something happens.” she presses her hand to her chin and chuckles. “not to treat you like a child, of course. better prepared than distraught in the future.”

He shrugs his shoulders a little, rolls them back and pretends the ache from the earlier fight does not begin to settle in his hollow bones. He's fairly good at ignoring pain. "I'm glad I met you, you know. When my students fall during their flight instruction class, I'll send them to you."

The only reason they ever really fall is because it's funny for Naesala to allow them to do so, but he does not think it wise to add that comment.

He doubts it is the same for everyone, but at this point, whatever reason drove them to show up- experienced or not, must have been powerful enough to ignore the potential consequence of catching it themselves.

Most present were unfamiliar, save one- who, perhaps despite himself, approaches. Any surprise that Sephiran may have felt upon seeing the black-winged laguz would go unknown, drawn out into a conversation he could not claim would be productive. He puts on a smile, as sincere as it was the last time they had spoken.

It's fine. He can be here. Naesala doesn't have the authority to kick him out, anyway.

"The very same. So much in common we have," he says flippantly. He tries to give off the air of 'not caring' but he's a little out of practice (or maybe just a little thrown off), so it wouldn't be a stretch for someone who at least sort of knows him to notice this is affecting him more than he'd care to admit.

Andrei likes chocolate. This is not a fact that he broadcasts to the world, nor does he think Naesala had ever seen him eating any kind of sweets. But the raven's excuse is thin enough that even he could see through it for the invitation that it is, and there should be little reason Naesala would consider this an appropriate kind of rendezvous for the two of them. Unless.

"…Did Cranberry tell you I like them?" The pigeon had certainly seen him eat before, and while Andrei hadn't expected a bird to understand the concept of an entire category of foods he'd never eaten in his life, perhaps he could be mistaken. Cranberry himself, busy inhaling the seeds in Naesala's hands with gusto, certainly doesn't seem to feel any guilt about airing his owner's secrets.

He'd had no intent to join the seminar, despite being vaguely interested in the topic at hand, mainly for a reluctance to reveal that side of himself to any of the other potential participants. If it were an invitation from a— a what? friend, or even something else — though…

Perhaps he might even get some of the answers to the questions he'd been staunchly ignoring in his own mind.

"Mhm. Cranberry pays attention to you often, you know," he says, scratching under the little bird's chin. "And that had me thinking that perhaps the both of us should go together."

He's glad that Andrei's coming with him. He smiles, just a little, his face turned away from him so that he can't see the pleased expression in it's entirety. He wants to laugh a little at the absurdity of it; that this is the setup he's going with. That this is how he chooses to try to get closer with his -- whatever he is.

The tunnel is long, but Naesala's feet are light. He puts Cranberry on his shoulder and lets the little bird look around and flit between the two of them as he likes.

   Chrom was not the lead for his group. In fact, he didn’t even try to see if he could take the helm – it wasn’t a position he would outwardly seek. Plus, he still wasn’t as familiar with the far reaches of Fodlan, let alone those within the Adrestian Empire, despite his affiliation with the Black Eagles. Such a fact was a bit disappointing, Chrom would admit, given his almost year-long tenure with the Officer’s Academy, and under the Black Eagles. 

   He shakes his head; concerns about his tenure didn’t matter for the moment. What did, however, was his ability to harvest. With a scythe in hand, Chrom was quick at work.

   The man wasn’t a stable farmhand, at least not nearly as much as many of the others here seemed to be. Though his hands were calloused, they weren’t due to taking scythe to grain, but rather due to a clash of blades from a war fought at the front lines. Despite his lack of farm experience, though, he was still as skilled with a blade as any other, and he was earnest in his work ethic too. 

   Cut, cut, and cut away, time passes as a song is hummed under the breath; Chrom even whilst he gathered amidst the fields of Bergliez, still thought back to his home in Ylisse. ‘I wonder how the other shepherds are do-’ 

   Thoughts are interrupted, brought to a steady halt, as he bumps into what almost feels like feathers; odd, since there shouldn’t be such a large flock of birds here, let alone so close to grain. Yet when his eyes found their focus again, they hone in on black; large wings, almost like those of a raven's, met his gaze, and rather quickly Chrom understood that they had belonged to a man rather than a sudden conspiracy. 

   “My apologies!” His words were swifter than his thoughts now, wanting to offer apology to his fellow offered farmhand. At least, Chrom presumed the man standing before him was here by volunteering, much like the Exalt himself was. “I lost my train of thought while gathering; are you okay? I hope I didn’t run into you too harshly…”

It's not like he's incapable of working hard; he grew up in Kilvas, after all, he's no stranger to making the land yield what it can to him. This is a much more fertile place, however. Back home there would be no plentiful harvest, with or without those to tend to the grain there would be no fruits borne of the land.

He's a little jealous. It's hard not to think about how these beorc were able to grow this harvest, and how the rewards will be swiftly brought to those who were not here to cultivate the crops fully due to their illness. If Naesala were in a more charitable mood, perhaps he would think about the connections between these beorc and the people of his home; sickness chokes them, causes them to lose out on their food source, and ask strangers for help.

Kilvas could never ask strangers for assistance, which brings him back to a more sour mood. He's absentmindedly picking at the grain and considering how much he can get away with on his back should he choose to steal and flee the scene, when he feels someone bump against him.

He frowns, turns around and is met with an unfamiliar gaze. He pauses, runs a hand through his hair and manages a fake little smile. "Oh, not too badly. Though you should be careful with that thing, it might actually hurt someone."

Quarantining, smarantining. The most absolute divine and radiant descendant of the gods never got sick. Of course, if he must stay indoors, he has an absolutely wonderful idea.

You see, telling Izana he could do anything was dangerous. He would let all of that power go to his head! And what was a better way to use that power and get people to stay inside all nice and safe than to plan a totally epic party?

It was, like, a genius plan and all. He knew. Go ahead and clap and cheer for him now, since he was perfect and brilliant!

And so now Izana stands outside the door of the biggest building he could convince someone to allow him to use, promising that he would keep everyone there as long as possible - both so they could remain safe and have a good time! He smiles as people enter, silently patting himself on the back for coming up with this. Any excuse to throw a party was good in his book too.

"Yoo-hoo! Come right in! All you can eat, so long as you stay until they give us an all clear!"

There's no way that he could do that. He's not feeling sick anyways, so there's no reason he should miss out on a party just because everyone else is staying at home with the sniffles. He'll go out and have a good time, go home with a full belly and a pocket filled with various nobleman's missing buttons and trinkets.

Honestly, he doesn't even feel bad about the idea. Why should he? Clearly other people aren't taking this threat of disease seriously, so he won't either. Instead of moping at home he can go out an socialize; he hasn't really had the chance to do too much of that since he returned to the monastery. The host seems pleasant enough, too, at least by the way he greets Naesala at the door.

She peers down at the lush forest, stretching far and wide towards the mountains in the distance. "Woah…!" escapes from her mouth before she can stop herself. An embarrassed cough salvages some of her composure—or whatever left of it with her feet swinging in the air, anyway. "Indeed, I daresay these will suffice," she replies, not quite able to keep the glee from her voice. "I knew I could count on you!"

However, once they reach the aforementioned perfect weapons, there's just one obvious problem. "Wait, how am I meant to—?" she starts, puzzled, before narrowing her eyes at the raven. If this was partly some ploy to poke fun at her, she hopes he knows she's not above a little challenge.

A twist at the branch does nothing, and neither does shoving at the damned thing with both her arms. She squints, thinking for a moment, before coming to a decision. Naesala has already seen her do far more foolish things.

"Excellent!" he says, because if he doesn't say something he's going to laugh and drop her. This, combined with her movements, make him unsteady in the air. It's enough that even as his wings keep them (mostly) upright, he's thrown off.

He spins backwards and -- despite all his previous actions that would imply the opposite -- he prioritizes Sanaki's safety. He uses his arms to cradle and protect Sanaki's head, making sure her face is safe from getting too scratched up. He makes a surprised sound as he gets caught in the branches, a rather undignified look as he tries to steady himself by kicking out his feet and using his wings as limbs to steady himself.

He stays like that for a moment, frowning. The light filters through the leaves up above, the branch they were attempting to take down still there like it's mocking them both. He sighs, slowly sits up, and straddles part of the trunk that can support both their weight.

And he’d chosen to kiss him again, anyway.

Even so, it is difficult to properly classify this situation at the moment. There had been no official courtship, after all, merely an invitation, a dance, and a kiss. (And now a few more.) Where does that leave their relationship?

The relief of the knock that jolts him out of his thoughts is immediately dashed by the muffled voice on the other side of the door, sounding awfully familiar, but surely it is only because Andrei’s mind had been on a certain bird. Surely, it is merely a coincidence.

(See? It’s so easy to tell the same lie to himself again.)

So he’s not entirely surprised when he opens the door to see Naesala, and the potential awkward silence is filled when, in a noisy flutter of wings, his supposed first favorite bird clears the length of the room to settle on the raven’s shoulder, cooing happily at the surprise visit.

A normal individual would reach out and explain in certain terms that he wanted to take Andrei on a date. That he was here to see Andrei first and foremost, and that he'd been up thinking about him ever since they were reunited. A normal person would reiterate that Andrei was missed; that Naesala wanted to make up for lost time.

Naesala is not a normal person.

"You're an added bonus," he says instead. He smiles, tilts his body and tries to get a good look at Andrei's face. "After all, you have thumbs, which will be very helpful where I'm taking you."

Naesala doesn't believe that he deserves something soft and gentle. He wants it, but he has to ask for it in the most convoluted of ways. It's all pulling hair and teasing with him. He continues to feed those seeds to Cranberry as he takes a step into the room.

Crows are not dirty. And ravens certainly aren't either, which is why when he'd heard about some young man (a student? professor? Naesala wasn't sure on the details) that was befriending the bird population en masse, he was irritated that the monastery thought he might be a public health concern.

Of course, Naesala being the fine upstanding citizen that he is immediately volunteered to talk to this mysterious bird-whisperer. Others were grateful, but Naesala was just pleased that there was another potential victim of the "laguz can actually talk to animals" lie that he (in)famously told a certain someone so long ago. It was such a classic -- after all, who wouldn't believe a person with raven-black wings when he says he can speak with birds?

He approaches with that in mind, a little mischievous smile on his face. It appears the crow boy has already surrounded himself with birds as he sits in the grass, which makes this all the more easy.

"Hm... you must be Henry," Naesala hums. "I've heard about you."

He has never been astride one. He has always pitied them, truth be told - at least the ones around him in Elusia. He hopes their prospects have brightened since the end of the war in Elyos, but when Mauvier expressed interest in getting over his distrust of the winged beasts, Naesala seemed to know just the thing.

And she's a lovely creature, aged with wisdom, gentle around the eyes. She's rather affectionate with Naesala, and Mauvier doesn't think he would be ready for that kind of nuzzling and leaning, but perhaps one day, it could be nice.

As instructed, Mauvier takes a halved apple from its nearby basket and holds it out for Daffodil to inspect. Is he supposed to hold it in front of her mouth, or wait for her to approach? He decides on the latter, keeping his hand steadfast as if he holds a weapon and not a fruit.

"Here," he calls softly, wondering how best to endear herself to her. "It's for you. I won't hurt you." He remains unflinching as she curiously eyes Mauvier's treat.

He sees the gentleness in Mauvier's eyes, though. The slow moving hand. The unsure way he extends the offer to her. He says nothing for the moment, letting Daffodil and Mauvier get a better idea of each other before he puts a hand on one of his wyvern's shoulders.

The subtle, calming gesture seems to be enough for her. She reaches out and takes a bite, then another, and finally finishes the apple before she makes a pleased little cawing sound.

He knows that this isn't something to joke about.

This plague could very well be a medical anomaly, as plagues often are. But it also could be something sinister, perhaps something magical; he thinks of his own country's history, how the blood pact made it seem like a plague was upon them. Each passing day had more and more casualties. He thinks of how the ravens didn't understand the whole of it, about how even though he was so young when this tragedy befell his country it's forever ingrained in the social conscious of his people.

He thinks of disobedience and enslavement both, and something angry curls up tight in the pit of his stomach.

He wasn't able to help then, but he might be able to help now. He tells himself he doesn't care about the beorc of this place, but he's still volunteering to help find the root of the issue. He plays at disinterest, but this is too close to home.

His arms are crossed as he looks at the people in front of him. Researchers, students, other volunteers -- they all are background faces to him. His eyes narrow as he sees a familiar face amongst them, and he wonders what would bring him here.

"What are you doing here?" he forgoes a greeting and instead just raises an eyebrow. "Curious about the plague as well?"

It's been a strange couple months since he's returned to the academy. He's been busy, sure, but still managed to avoid any extracurricular activities that he wasn't explicitly invited to. He's had an easy enough time re-acclimating to the particular stressors that come with being a professor, including lesson planning and grading papers. Most of his other time is spent trying to figure out exactly how he wants to navigate his affections for a certain mean little blonde.

( it seems he has a type. )

Which is why when he finds out there is a seminar going on for making chocolates, he instantly thinks of Andrei. Before he can think of whether this counts explicitly as a 'date' or as just a hangout, he's finding his way back into abyss with an invite and a smile.

After all, who wouldn't want to make little delicious sweets? He really should have thought to check if Andrei likes candies, but he figures: even if he doesn't, he can give them to someone else, right?

He knocks on Andrei's door with a smile on his face. "Oh, Andrei? It's your second favorite bird, won't you answer?"