fervid

MOVE OVER Racket of Solm😎😎😎😎😎

she's about to apologize right before he talks about luxury. she inhales sharply. luxurious, he says. her fingers grip the knit cat in her hands tighter, a dark expression being drawn from such a comment. lips purse tightly into a thin line as she tries to control herself.

he does not know her. he does not know what she went through. he does not know the complete helplessness she felt as she watched her closest friends perish from the burning embers of the meteor spell. he does not know the palpable anguish in the moments after, escaping from that wasteland. knowing that she had left so many to die and that— even if she tried to return— she would not be able to save any of them.

she had not felt luxurious since she was a child.

"…i should not have presumed to know you." she says quietly, because she knows she is at least a little bit at fault here for assuming worse of him. "but you should not presume to know me, either." she sets the little knit cat on the desk, then pushes past him to the end of the infirmary where the very last cot sits.

Zelkov preferred efficiency to chit chat, and he let the silence linger as they finished tidying the infirmary. He might've tried to do too many things at once, but each and every task had needed to be done. He ignored the discomfort in the air, working to finish making each bed and even fluffing pillows in a businesslike manner.

He passed by one of the other plushes he'd made for the infirmary, a Sommie, and gave it a pat, heart softening a little.

But not enough to try and smooth things over neatly.

To have said goodbyes a second time after all she had gone through made her happy. To not be able to visit the place she could call her 'grave' hurt, but the harm caused by Sombron couldn't be undone. The former Divine Dragon Monarch's body was no longer in this world, but she had a ring left as a birthday gift, not a burial ground but a way to still be connected to her nonetheless.

"It's a shame mother doesn't have a place for her body to rest... hm." A complaint was voiced despite trying to think the best of it. She shook her head. "I was able to see her again as her body gave out, she doesn't have a burial place but she's looking after all of us on the sky." Alear looked up and smiled gently, this was a nicer way of thinking about it. "As long as the sky is with us, so will she be resting there. I only need to look up to see her."

As she lowered her gaze she noticed Zelkov's head movement and turned to face where he pointed. Did he hear something? The dragon stood up but stayed behind Zelkov as he was the one with a weapon and she was the one who had left her Emblem ring in her dorm and so her sword—oh, she had a shovel. She could use that to smack someone, yes!

...Too heavy to use for attacking. She wasn't Vander who used axes, ah.

Oh well! Where he went she followed and if she couldn't use a weapon, well she would use her fists! Or she would use them when Zelkov had pinned whatever or whoever it was down because he was the winner tonight when it came to preparations. "..." Gulping saliva down as the man came to a halt she peeked from behind.

Monuments didn't always have to have actual relics of the deceased, after all. He filed that away to bring up sometime when they had more time to talk, or when he could make something to surprise her.

He crouched low and sprinted by the rows of stones, determined to outrun whatever potential intruder had alerted themselves to them.

Leaping over the other side of a row, he came face to face with the source of the noise.

Alear did too, and they made eye contact over it.

Zelkov stooped down, picking up a stray cat. He cuddled it close in his arms, sighing as he scratched behind its ears. "You gave us the *wrong* idea there, little one," he muttered. "But if not you, what's been causing this *mayhem*?" They had to stay on alert.

But... he also took a moment to hold out the gray cat to Alear, knowing she seemed to have a soft spot for animals.

"My purpose is to head back to the dorms and try to get some sleep before breakfast. I've been studying in the library," her tone is less gentle than usual. The hour is late, her nerves fried from that encounter and honestly? This is the third time this week someone's accused her of being dead. It was becoming rather frustrating. "I tread no border between worlds. That's preposterous."

Their eyes lock for a moment or two. Julia's previous irritation breaks, like waves crashing upon the shore. Rumours were abound of late and her attempts to be quiet on her nightly trips may have done more harm than good. Maybe, she hopes, the threats are out of fear rather than a desire to actually inflict harm upon her.

"Sir, if I was a ghost, I doubt that knife would be very helpful. It would likely pass right through me," Julia comments softly, lifting her arm and letting her sleeves fall back to her elbow. She holds out her bare forearm, reflecting the moonlight streaming in from the windows. "Here, you can check my pulse. I assure you I'm very much alive."

"So please, put the knife down. I mean you no harm or foul."

"You could be *nicer*, since you have confirmed you have the luxury of being alive," he muttered.

Zelkov had brought one of his old silver knives with him. It was the best he could do without magic, and had she been a ghost it wouldn't have harmed him to try it. It glinted in the night before he sheathed it away, stepping back, not bothering to feel her pulse.

He stepped so far back he was in the shadows again.

"Very well. If *you* are not the one haunting *these* grounds, there may be a spirit out here yet. I shall *escort* you to your destination, and scout ahead as I do so."

"Zelkov, *hello.*" Her voice mimicked his speech pattern as a show of trust. The sound of his step did put her on edge but she shook her head in disagreement on him frightening her. "Don't worry you never scare me, i was worried whoever did this still dared stepping in. It's rude to destroy the resting place of innocent people, they can't defend themselves of this."

Now knowing that wasn't the case she could work on cleaning and leaving a flower for each grave affected. Carefully placing the flowers on the floor she lifted the rag for the man to see her intentions. "Thank you for patroling, i was planning on cleaning a bit and leaving a gift for each. If they can see us beyond the stars i'm sure they would love this little gesture, that's the least i can do."

She'd like if people did that for her whenever her time as a protector of Elyos had ended. To be fondly remembered by those who loved her... well, she'd do that for each of her friends when their time came but she had them now and the future didn't matter until it came for it to be the present. "It would help those who mourn them too. I can imagine how much it must hurt to see were you buried a loved one destroyed, even if partly."

"Indeed." Zelkov surveyed the graveyard around them, picking out what he could in the mists. Some gravestones had been topples, overs bashed, some graves even dug up as though the intruders had resorted to robbing. Things had been tough lately, but not to this point of desperation. It felt more like they were taking advantage of lessened patrols.

He knelt, brushing the dirt off of a low marker like Alear had done, fingers tracing the name. It was one he didn't know, but that was fine. "Yes, these places exist for the *living*, for our own comfort. This *connection* we have to our loved ones, these burial grounds, *must* be protected."

Standing tall again, he peered out into the fog, hand poised above the handle of one of his throwing knives.

"No... not *yet*," he admitted.

Self *Defense* [Open]

“Oh. Right.” The other has a point; Energy can’t be wasted on something as stupid as being nervous. It’s just easier to not worry about stuff like manners and decorum when you’re just supposed to beat the other person’s ass and get it over with — An attitude you’re definitely not supposed to be taking up with a mentor of any kind. (”ugh, this again? you trying to get a gold star or something?” — Chad can practically hear Raigh laughing at him.)

They’re already forcing down the hunch of their shoulders into something more fluid when Zelkov continues, and the student’s expression twists in confusion. They’re… Not sure whether to be sympathetic or offended that he thinks they’re outright scared of him. (They think, that if they were as tall as he is, they’d have the same general effect on people, too.) Instead, they carefully settle on staying vaguely confused.

“What? I’m not,” They start, twisting slightly to block with a swift chop of their hand, successfully diverting the strike away from their shoulder. A grunt as they ready for his next strike.

“—Scared of you.” Another block, this time overhead, with their forearm. They resist the urge to dodge the next, but accidentally take the hit to their wrist and wince — It doesn’t hurt, as promised, but they can’t help but think that that hand would’ve been totaled in a real battle. The next hit comes, a jab aiming for their side, and they instinctively twist away — It’s a good dodge, but not what they were instructed to do. They catch themself with a heel-turn and grimace.

“(Dammit.)” Then louder: “The pace is good. Again, please.”

Zelkov was relieved he wasn’t frightening the current student he was training with. Even when he made contact with Chad’s wrist, he endeavored to not have the strike send pain shooting down the bone or otherwise hurt him.

“Oh. I am *glad,* then.” Chad recovers quickly, pressing on, asking for more training. Zelkov obliged, focused on helping Chad refine his reflexes and technique.

“It is *alright* to dodge. In *real* combat, I dodge more than block,” he admitted. Zelkov wasn’t a teacher in part because he didn’t think he had it in him to actually be strict with students, despite his other worry that they might be frightened of him. What could he do so more people were like Chad and didn’t judge so quickly? “You are doing *well.*”

The quick pace is nice. They’re thinking on their feet, still stumbling every so often on the decision to block or dodge, gradually getting used to the fact that their bracers could take more than they initially trusted them with — Some blows glance off in what would be painful in real combat, but here, it’s just another lesson.

Zelkov’s good at this. Chad noted it before, but the care he’s putting into not injuring them’s tangible. They take an accidental hit to the shoulder, but it’s a controlled tap that they wince through (not for pain, but self-directed frustration) — Every lunge, strike, hit’s like that. He’s got skill, and enough of it to also know how to be kind. Maybe that’s why the boy’s not entirely sure how to answer. He’s obviously a good enough guy to be entrusted with a bunch of schoolkids and be this decent at keeping them safe… But, well, between the loom and the weird emphasis and the all-black clothing with the eyes, it’s hard to pick one thing out that could be, well, intimidating.

The latter and his affect (bar the talking maybe), it’s stylish, which is why they hesitate. But Chad would do all of that willingly to scare people off, and the people who matter would think they’re fine anyways. So, they don’t know how to combine the mysterious swagger with approachability…

At Chad's words, he blinked with surprise.

"Why, yes." He greatly preferred the corners of a room, the shadows outside of the harsh light unless he specifically needed it for work. A portion of it was being constantly sleep deprived and wincing at the sun, far more used to Elusia's overcast skies. It was simply habit, he supposed, though he spent plenty of time being too busy to fade into the background at work.

So, maybe it was a slight problem. He called he and Yunaka's *slime* conversation.

He chuckled, genuinely amused. "Ah, I see. That *would* make me seem a little unapproachable. Funny how often we are so *unaware* of how we come across."

With that, he gave a nod and broke out of his stance, standing tall.

Why else would she feel so heavy unless she were burdened with slumber? Her body feels strange, wrong. She presses a hand to her mouth to stifle a groan and the texture of her palm jolts her from her grogginess. Are those… callouses? Her blurry vision sharpens and she realizes that her hands are not hers.

With a shriek that could shatter glass, Clair ungracefully leaps to her feet. She is taller, now — much taller. She does not know what to do with this newfound height and all its… gangliness. Her hands reach up to pat her face, and another wail of distress escapes her when she realizes her full lips and button nose are nowhere to be felt. And her hair — her hair! What happened to her hair? It feels all short… and thin! Tears well up in unfamiliar eyes. How she wishes to tear the classroom apart, brick by brick!

Clair whirls around to face… herself. Mother Mila, this is strange. She cranes her neck to stare down at her body, piloted by someone else. It is a small comfort to see that, more or less, her real form looks just as she had left it.

“Terrible? Is it truly as bad as you say?” Her voice comes as a whimper, which sounds strange with her new, deeper tone. “Oh, gods.”

She buries her face in her hands and a choked sob escapes her. The rational part of her tells her that she has faced worse than this — quite silly, if she were to be honest — predicament. She fought the corrupted War Father and won, for gods’ sake. But the larger, deeply hysteric part of her wants to find a cave to cower in for the rest of her days. With much difficulty (and a long, long deep breath) she manages to rein in her frenzied emotions — for the most part.

“Stop frowning.” Clair snaps. “It is an expression unbecoming of my visage. You’ll give me wrinkles!”

Ladyknight — or, well, whatever she is now — heaves a heavy sigh, running a hand distressedly through her hair. 

Perhaps his wording was indelicate. Zelkov held up his hands, unused to how pale they were. Well... he could tell that this girl was strong, at least. The knight's uniform was far from unearned.

"Oh, I meant no *offense*", he said, still letting his delivery of words and syllables tumble out playfully with nonsense inflections. It was too much of a habit to stop now, and he had to admit it sounded amusing in her voice. "I am often *unable* to sleep, and didn't realize how much it showed. It is not *your* fault."

And then she was crying, and he didn't know what to do but marvel at how it sounded.

She had no restraint, did she? He'd heard more emotion out of his voice in minutes than he had in years.

He wasn't exactly able to smile when commanded to stop frowning, but he could pull off a neutral expression. Hmmm. "There are *creams* for that, if you are so concerned, though I do not think you are close to the age at which you need worry about *wrinkles*."

Zelkov raised his eyebrows as she further commanded him to do something. Though he couldn't see it, the look he was giving her through the body he was in was especially skeptical.

"I am retainer to a *queen*, lady knight, I am the best assassin and guard in all of Elusia. My behavior and skill is impeccable." So long as he didn't run into a certain few people... "For this *mishap*, there is no cure but time, and I have work to do. You may follow me to the infirmary if you like. I have some *salves* and pastes to finish making. It will be *messy*."

Just like these people the Divine Dragon of another world rested. To think she had seen the grave of the man who mirrored her in everything but appearance, she could have thought of it as her own too but they were not the same, she preferred to think of him as a long lost twin. Still remembering the promise made in their 'meeting' she was glad to have kept it.

But the souls here weren't him nor they were the many corrupteds she had seen in times of war—they were innocent people whose slumber had been disrupted. And so Alear made her mission to give them a just treatment, flowers in hand, a rag to clean up a little and perhaps needing a shovel if the ground surrounding some graves had been tampered with. She was set to make their eternal homes beautiful once again.

Plans came momentarily to a halt as the dragon heard steps behind her, she turned around wondering if it was another kind soul or the culprit of this mess. "Who's there?"

They were peace. Here, the dead and beloved rested, visited by those who missed them. Death was a simple fact of existence, one to be accepted. Monuments were not made for the benefit of the dead- how could they be when the dead were gone- but of the living seeking to honor them, to feel a connection. His worries and tension could slide away for a little while in the silence between stones, himself at rest too.

Rather, they were supposed to be peace.

Zelkov silently crept through the graveyard, alert for any other sign of movement. The disrespect for the dead and of such a sacred place had him on edge. Whoever was behind it would regret their transgressions the moment he found them.

A sound.

He slid out from behind a row of graves, ready to spring at the intruder. However, he stopped short, drawing himself up to his full height, expression softening.

Now, if he has continued to pursue you in spite of prior rejections, that's another story—no is no, and he should have the sense and decency to respect those wishes.