a beautiful, happy dream

LINKS: self • stat • bond • uniform • mun + guidelines • thread tracker

His hands are disappointingly empty. She had come with a thoughtful gift, and Innes had not. He still comes with an idea, rather than with empty hands.

"I admit, I was unsure of what to buy for your birthday, and thoughtful gifts are beyond me." He clears his throat, clearing away some of the embarrassment. "Instead, I would like to go to the markets with you and allow you to pick out any gift you would like."

She hardly even notices at first that his hands are empty. To be remembered is enough -- more, already, than she would ever dare to ask for. So when he draws attention to it himself, clearly unembarrassed (clearly!), Katarina can but blink for a moment before she succumbs to a quiet laugh.

"I guess I had an unfair advantage, didn't I...?" Half the gift she'd given him, after all, had simply been the fulfillment of a promise; she could have given it to him on any day. (Not because it is not special, no -- simply that it was always meant to be his.) The shift of her expression is subtle, but to any who understood her, she is quite evidently, quite eminently pleased.

Not that she is so avaricious; rather, he had already given her the most valuable gift she could think of: his time. To show her that she is worthy of it already means the world to her. (Though she doesn't lack for perception. Perhaps while they're out and about, she might see the things that catch his eye as well...)

For how could she contain her excitement? She had a gift prepared already, but a dash of inspiration from Katarina herself had made it impossible not to procure a second gift.

"I hope you have had the most wonderful of birthdays so far!" She claps her hands together in excitement, the gift bag she's carrying swaying along.

"Inside are some of the most wonderful gifts I could think of; after all, someone as marvellous as you only deserves the best!" She let out a boisterous laugh, before holding the bag out to Katarina.

Inside are two books; both focusing on adventurers on quests to slay monsters, though one was more earnest in its story, whilst the other was a full on farce.

"I could not quite decide on which one you would enjoy more, so I simply decided to eliminate the issue altogether by purchasing both!" She grinned, still bouncing in place, awaiting for Katarina to take out the other gift; a box, packaged in ribbons similar to the ones L'Arachel's gift had been adorned with (Though they are very much not the same ones, that would be quite tacky of her!)

In the box rests a hand-made bracelet, lovingly embroidered by L'Arachel. It is quite simplistic in its looks; merely green, purple and orange repeating itself in a pattern.

She quickly slips on the one she made for herself, attempting to angle it so that the slight unevenness in the pattern, caused by it being her first attempt at the bracelets, would hopefully be unseen by her friend.

"I made these as a sign of our friendship." She gives Katarina the fondest of smiles. "You do not need to wear it always, but I hope that even just having it in your possession shall be a solid reminder of our friendship. You will always have a friend in L'Arachel of Rausten." The place they forged this bond may no longer exist, but this bracelet shall be yet more proof of how meaningful and wonderful it had been.

"L'Arachel...!" My good friend, she says so easily, like it is a simple thing or a matter of fact, and the thought that it may really be just that springs a smile to Katarina's face. No, even before that, from the moment she had seen the princess of Rausten hurrying her way over-- no, even before... oh, does it really matter? L'Arachel smiles, and Katarina-- wobbly-lined and shy as ever-- smiles back. "...hehe. My good friend...!"

The weight of the books and all the boundless enthusiasm they carry settle comfortably in her arms, the bag itself hugged close rather than hung from the crook of an elbow. Ah, but her friend is terrible in her effulgent excitement! (Her eyes narrow fondly.) How is she to resist at least stealing a peek at the covers when the threads of joy stitch through her every word?

That soft, subtle curve called a smile braves growing wider as she pulls one of the books free. The farce, she thinks, judging -- well, judging the book by its cover. But if she were wrong to do so? If L'Arachel simply had the gift of finding adventures more colorful than any other? She might not be surprised, but she would most surely be happy with that.

"Oh, L'Arachel... thank you. These will be some of the most special books on my shelf." And in the tenderness of her voice there is naught but sincerity. Her bookcase is far from empty, but of everything she owns she cannot recall a single one like these: a story. An adventure. Something utterly vivacious. Most everything she has kept is in pursuit of knowledge, a whetstone for a mind and a king's knife, and that will always be a part of her; she does not love the gift Soren gave her one bit less for how it contrasts to that which she received from L'Arachel.

But it feels... significant, somehow, to simply have... a story. To breathe in and remember that there is a dagger, yes, but a girl as well.

The book slips from between her fingers and drops back into the bag.

"You made these...?" A blink, and then as if recollecting her wits, the mage's hand darts back in, eyes searching the slight shadow within until she finds its promised match. Her only hesitation is to admire it -- the colors her friend had chosen, that she had made it herself, that they existed not as one but as a pair...

"I love it," she murmurs, her quiet voice turned breathless with a swell of emotion. Slipping her wrist through at once, Katarina holds her wrist next to L'Arachel's, something shimmering in her eyes at the sight of them. "I..."

I've never been anything special, she might have said once, focused on the differences between them, and all of her deficiencies. Right now, however, she feels... well, she feels like L'Arachel's good friend. And that feels quite special indeed.

So the gesture in gift giving becomes less one of obligation and more of the tiny ways soren offers his care to others.  It easier, this way, to offer something small and meaningful, than to hold an extended conversation at length about one's connection to another.

Anyway,

              soren needs to do a little more research about her.  (his new… friend.  he has more than one, these days.)  he'd had an inkling before, when they had worked together, that she'd been a strategist in the past, but it's easier to confirm with a few questions.

Her gift to him had been obvious and simple.  A sign of their friendship, turned from dream to reality.  The gesture was clear, despite the hairpin's lack of practicality.

(Well, it has more practicality in the projected future, between the time when soren realizes he must cut his hair and the time when he finally gets around to it.)

There is not a similar object in the other direction, from soren to Katarina, that matches what she had given him, so he uses what he knows to improvise.

The result is a book - expensive now.  soren has never cared too much for keeping belongings, so though he once read it ages ago, he'd never held onto it.  It burned in a fire soren once set, in a home he'd once stayed.

Even though he can haggle the price down, he ends up giving more gold than he'd prefer, but the tome is in his hand.  Soon it will be in Katarina's.

It's a book on advanced tactics, analyzing various wars and battles fought in Tellius' past.  It focuses on how Daein and Crimea both were able to wrest themselves from under Begnion's control, and though such countries and words have little meaning in the lands of fódlan, he thinks she may find it an interesting read regardless.

soren had once, anyway.  It had been one of his favored authors.

he doesn't wrap it - there's no need for that - and he intends to simply leave it with her belongings, soren accidentally intercepts Katarina on the way, and there's few things he dislikes more than inefficiency.

“Katarina,” he calls, “convenient running into you.  You know what day it is, yes?  Here.”

With that said, he extends his arm, offering to her the book.

"Oh, Soren...!" She knows what day it is, yes, but what surprises her more is that he does. That he could find out, she'd never doubted, but that he would? Katarina is a better reader of books than people, but she hadn't taken him for the sort to care about this kind of thing -- namedays and their celebrations, however small -- so then...?

So then... this is for her, isn't it? Because namedays and their celebrations might matter to her. Is... she allowed to think that?

"I do," comes the simple answer, one hand slipping under the book in quiet acceptance. Tilting it sideways, she scans the text sprawled across its spine, then steals a peek at its inner pages. Nothing too long, mind, given she's holding him up in the hallway like this, but just enough to get a sense for what waits for her behind the cover.

It's a book of tactics, or seems like it, its roots laid not only in theory but in the names of countries she's never heard of. That it speaks of places from beyond Fódlan sticks out to her immediately, though the choice of subject does not escape unnoticed. Had she ever mentioned to him her brief stint as a tactician? If nothing else, she's certain that she'd yet to divulge her dream to return to that post and do right by it.

But that also suits Soren, as far as her understanding of him goes: casual and deliberate. If there were moments where he was careless, she's fairly sure they would be deliberately chosen, too.

A smile warps the elsewise placid line of her lips; when it threatens to overtake it entirely, she pushes it against the backs of her knuckles, unaware that it reaches for her eyes and changes them with its warm touch.

(If... you would be my friend after all of this... then... I would be happy.)

And she is. Happy. Happy to have reached out her hand, happy to have been able to be honest from the start, happy to bumble gracelessly and a bit foolishly through the awkward process of learning how to be a friend, and how to understand one. She had never been one to begrudge the fact that her nameday passes over quietly -- had never considered her birth gift enough to celebrate. Yet with a fingertip gently tracing the cover, with a hand pushing the book close to her heart, Katarina finds that she can't tell him it was some small, insignificant matter.

"Thank you," she says instead, gray eyes flitting up to meet his. Then a promise: "I'll take care to read it." She hasn't stopped smiling, though she's forgotten to keep hiding it.

And lastly, a hope: "I'll tell you when I finish it. If it's alright... I'd like to hear your thoughts, too."

"Ah! Miss Katarina. Just the person I wished to see. " Smile crinkles Azama's eyes. "Will you join me for a toast?"

He's got two glasses in hand, and he would very much like to not have two glasses in hand, thanks much. He offers her one before raising the other before him.

"To a brand new year full of whimsy and enlightenment and moving forward, and learning, and bothering people... and... and..."

There he stops, shrugs, grins.

"Hum... Your turn!"

"Oh...! Professor..." Hard to shake the habit, isn't it? Though she's a bit more conscious of it when he's handing her a glass of champagne. One glass limit aside, no teacher would have been the one to give her that one glass if she were still a student. "...thank you, Azama," she amends.

He raises his glass, and she does so in turn, listening as he gleefully rattles off the things he'd like to fill his year. Not that she would ever dare claim to understand him, but the corners of her mouth curl faintly upward when he slips 'moving forward' in with the rest. The rest being... well, things that very much sound like he'd enjoy.

"M-my turn?" Well, he did just end his list with bothering people. Really, it's on her for not seeing it coming. That does nothing to stop her fluster. "I've never, um..."

Eyes flit hither and thither in search of an answer, until they land on her bouquet and settle into calm. Lowering her glass, she lifts a tulip instead, raising it in his honor.

"...They don't have rose tea..." It's a careless thought, mostly murmured to herself as she surveys the blends on offer. She supposes it makes sense -- even for an academy catering not only to countless nobility but a host of foreign royals as well, it sounds a bit... pricey to stock in such quantities. Unfortunately, she's left to pick from what they do have, and she hasn't a clue about that.

"Excuse me..." Turning to the woman beside her, Katarina notes that something about her feels quite knowing. Maybe the way she carries herself, or a certain look in her eyes... "...do you have any recommendations for the teas here? I don't really drink it, but... I thought I'd try something new."

Even as she speaks she's looking for a tulip to offer her, as if the imposition of herself naturally required recompense.

She smiles, somewhat sheepishly.

Diffident. Unassuming. Meek, even if at least outwardly. What was this if not the shadow of an impression deemed oh so familiar? Reminded of a boy who no longer was, a brother long lost to time yet never faded to memory, Rafal chose this wallflower of a woman for a reason. This wallflower of a woman who stood out for all that she failed to stand out at all.

It was with such reasons in mind that he approached, brow writ with resolve: "You there. I have procured this. . .toy. It is nothing that I know what to do with. I am unable to eat it, and even if I were able, it would not be remotely sweet enough to satisfy me. I ask that you take it off my hands."

He gazed at her, expectant. Authoritative. Then, soft.

". . .In addition, I desire your flower. You may see it as a trade, or a request, or a demand, it matters not—know only that I require it for my important ends."

In contrast, she remembers him many years past the barest convergence of paths, so brief it could not even be considered a meeting.

What she does not expect is that his attention is fixed on her, determination pointed at her like the end of a sword when she had thought herself far beneath his sight. Her gaze still drifts hither and thither, expecting to find herself merely pebble in his wake, until the moment he stands before her.

Ah... but... this is familiar, isn't it? Katarina is a girl who bends beneath the slightest touch, whose resolve is many times softer than his -- a flame that only burns when times call for fire, and a hearth otherwise left dim. Yet at the other end of his determination she does not feel the pressure that so often accompanies such steel; she looks at him, and she remembers...

...she remembers a girl with hardly a coin to her name, whose words were always sharp, who would break before she would ever bend -- a girl who had given her the first gift she'd ever received in her life. Her hands had been warm when she pressed the wooden charm into Reese's own, still as sharp-tongued as ever.

That girl is gone; the sharp-eyed man in front of her will never know nor meet her. And they are different people -- this she knows as well, despite how such disparate silhouettes overlap for one fleeting moment. But still, because of all that she was -- a blazing wildfire of a woman who stood out no matter where she went-- Katarina meets him, and neither bends nor breaks; she simply is as she is.

"Of course." Two syllables, and three beats of laughter quiet in her breath. It is a small burden to carry, and weighs hardly anything at all; by the time she has tucked it away it is already nearly forgotten. Instead she wonders: "You said not sweet enough... how do the sweet buns compare?"

Her fingers already comb through the flower stems as his gaze softens, another chuckle hidden among their petals. How generous of him to lead with trading and requesting, she thinks in fond sincerity. And after them the demand of a gift that obscured the act of giving... Katarina smiles despite herself. Perhaps it is something else for him; regardless, to the boy whose shadow overlaps with a girl long gone, the least Katarina can do -- wants to do -- is treat him well.

“i-it's so bitter...” where's the chocolate? the hot milk? did she get another dud from the refreshments table? a sniveling whine into her mug. then, to the person beside her: “spare chocolate? jam? anything? i'll even give you this flower. and these are some seriously valuable flowers!”

It's hard not to overhear the harrowing ordeal of the girl beside her. Has she never had coffee before? What a bitter revelation that would be, especially if she had anticipated something far sweeter. Katarina's fingers wrap around her own mug, searching for moments to interject only to doubt herself when they appear.

But the opportunity presents itself to her when the girl swivels her head, desperately entreating her for a modicum of sweetness. She even offers one of her 'seriously valuable flowers', and the plea is so full-hearted, so ardent, that the mage can only blink for a moment.

"...Ah, one moment." A gloved hand begins to dip into her box of chocolates, only to pause before slipping underneath it; instead, she presents the entire thing to the bitter-besieged girl. "...Here. You can take as many as you want."

Her lips turn up a quiet smile, a thing even more sincere than it is small.

"...It's bitter, isn't it? Um..." Gray eyes fall away, laid against the ground like some penitent creature. Hopefully she isn't just repeating everything already known. "...coffee is very bitter on its own, but... you can add things like milk, sugar, or honey... to make it sweeter. It has a very nice aroma in sweets. Ah... but it tends to keep people up."

Once the girl has availed herself of Katarina's chocolates, the mage tucks it close to her once more without a glance as to how many are left. After all, she said what she meant and she meant what she said; if she'd wanted all of her chocolates, then it must have been a bitter drink. Instead, Katarina holds up a hand, shaking her head.

"Thank you," her smile widens a bit, brushing against her eyes, "But... you should keep your flower. N-not because I don't believe you! But, if it's really so valuable... you should keep it." She's never been anything of a green thumb anyway; even with their stems already cut, these blooms will surely endure longer under this girl's care than Katarina's -- and they will give her more joy, besides.

It doesn't surprise her anymore that an Archanean dance has found its way into the ballroom of an academy oceans away. Given everything she's seen and suffered in her time here, it hardly registers; no, what truly surprises her is that someone has approached her for a dance.

"Me...?" The question slips out before she can stop herself, though a hand is quick to follow, held up firstly in reassurance-- "O-oh! I'm sorry... that was rude of me. I was just surprised..." --and secondly placed in his in quiet acceptance.

"I'm lucky that I know this one," she murmurs, nearly swallowed by the song. Her eyes drift elsewhere in the steps, but when one of them speaks, they fall quietly upon his face once more. Rapt. Curious. It is not her attention that leaves; it is just that her gaze is shy, for-- "I don't dance very often, so... hehe. I'm glad I won't step on your toes."

The song dies as all things do, but before they disappear into their separate crowds and shadows, Katarina offers him a tulip, a small fleck of white between their dark ensembles. The act feels a bit foolish; the tulip is too gentle and bright for her, just as the pearl of yesteryear had been too beautiful, and the bell before that had ripped the wallflower up by its roots...

"Ah... Thank you." The words come out softly, a bit self-conscious, but there's still a speck of light that reaches her eyes. "For the dance... it was fun." Gray eyes turn faintly crescent, marked by the thought of a smile.

"I-I'm not sure how this happened..." Under the eyes of another, Katarina hurries to explain herself, only to find that she has no explanation. Between them on the refreshments table sits a bowl of shaved ice, its hue utterly strange. Beneath the mottled icecap, the syrup pools darkly, richly black, though its passage through the treat surely left staggeringly unappetizing gray streaks throughout.

"I, I thought it might be fun to mix flavors...!" Who knew that those bright colors would turn out like this? Flustered, a hand darts out to cover it, as if shielding Dorothea from her unsightly creation. "I didn't realize it'd turn out so... gross..."

Wait, it sounds worse saying it out loud. With a grimace, Katarina shakes her head and reaches for another bowl, still shielding the first from sight. Ah-- should she make it up to her with a flower, too? That seems only right. Quite apologetically, she holds up a new bowl and a new flower at once.

She's partway through a mouthful of chocolate when Yunaka appears beside her. A gloved hand covers her mouth as Katarina hurries to turn and nod her head in greeting, eyes sheepishly upturned.

"...hello Yunaka," comes the quiet greeting, bashful like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, never mind the fact the chocolates were a gift given to every attendee. Still she smiles in her quiet way at the sight of her, holding forward her modest box of treats.

"You look very pretty today." Where did her fondness for stars come from? They catch the light in her hair, gold bouncing off of silver -- is it them that make her radiant, or her that gives them light? Regardless, she is only human; perhaps she is hungry, too.