Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
At first, sheâd be lying if she tried to claim she was anything other than exceedingly anxious about his reaction. After all, what was he going to say to her doing this to what she assumed to be about ninety percent of his wardrobe!? When he closed his eyes, she did too, if only to brace herself for the impact.
Except⌠it never came.
Chrom always was just a bit better at self control than her, wasnât he? By technicality she hadnât hurt anybody else (or even worse, herself) with this mistake, so it seemed she was spared the wrath of her older brother today! Admittedly, that only made her guilt run deeper. The serenity was lacking, but still⌠like Emm, he was much better at keeping his calm than Lissa herself could ever hope to be. A hopeful, sheepish smile still stretched across her features in response though, plastered over any anxieties she had. If they could laugh this off, itâd be no harm done, right? Or, well, he already seemed to think it was, so this couldn't hurt either.
"Y-you can still wear it! I mean, you heard what they say, right? Pink is the new white or somethingâtotally professional!" It was pretty obvious in everything from the way her eyes refused to stay in one place for longer than a moment, all the way to the unnatural waver of her voice as she scrambled for something, anything she could say that would make her crime less of⌠well, a crime. She knew they could buy new ones, but that didn't change what happened to these poor clothes⌠"Youâd be the envy of your classes like that, Iâm sure of it!"
Trailing off into a bit of awkward laughter, she tried to comfort herself with the mental image of her brother entering some fancy college classroom with an entire outfit tinted vaguely pink. If he already said it was okay, she could probably skip out on the apology, right? This was a pretty humiliating situation as it was, and that would just make it worse, so if she could, sheâd rather skip it. Instead a slightly cautious, if not hopeful, few words were asked.
She talks, but he knows her well enough through the years that they've grown up together â that she has a tendency to talk and talk and talk, when she wants to cover up a mishap. Professional... the envy of his classes... Well, well... He usually finds it somewhat endearing; after all, she's his little sister, and the sun of his everyday. And he has no plans to extinguish that sparkle from his life. It was but a simple mistake, and Lissa's confidence is far more important to him than a pile of pink clothes. However, he's still going to need something to wear. As he examines the clothing, sorting through it with a grimace upon his expression, he finds that rather than the clothing being one big clump of pink, it varies in shades of damage. Of course, he doesn't give the darker pink clothes a glance, shoving them to one side of the basket to find a faded pink shirt (formerly white).Â
"We'll have to go purchase some new clothes, right? I'm sure we can well-afford it, anyway." He converses, talking gently as he moves about, lifting the shirt from the basket, then wanders over to what remains of his untouched closet, pulling out a pair of dark jeans. He closes the bathroom door only halfway, to change into outdoor clothing, but it takes him less than a minute before the door opens once more, and he tosses a bundle of warm clothing onto a nearby chair.
Even as he heads back towards her, approaching the doorway of his room and pointing to a spot where she can put down the basket of pink clothes (which can be dealt with later when they return), his shirt is only half buttoned, as fingers continue to move upwards in buttoning it up. With his hands occupied, he tilts his head towards the hallway, indicating that they should head out. "Come on, let's go. We're not just going to go clothes shopping; there are other matters that need tending to, as wellâ"
"âThough I believe that it would be in our best interest to take care of the important issues first." Feet quickly head down the many, many stairs of their mansion as the two make their way to the ground level, scaling the marble of their living room in a matter of seconds. His hand turns to unlock their large, double front doors, getting the nearest servant to lock it as they head outside. (They could drive, but walking builds character, right? Plus, it wasn't as if the mall was that far away. to begin with; they lived in the heart of the city.)Â "We'll be going to the mall first, but after that, there's a surprise."
There are plans that he has for this outing, an idea that's been sitting in the recesses of his mind for a while.
(It comes in the form of an endlessly bouncing ball of energy, wagging tails, and face licks everywhere.)
But she doesn't know that â yet.
Call it a habit, but really Frederick chose to continue using the term in referring to Chrom. It was almost strange not to do so, actually. He might only ever do so in frustration, which was rare, as a parent might. Using the full name, you know? Though even then, it was rare or not even directed at Chrom himself. Did he personally find it strange? Hardly.
"Ah.. Yes, milord. I was on my way back home."Â
Watching as Chrom busied himself with his phone, Frederick fell silent as he waited. âMilord, it is unnecessary that you escort me. Really, Iâd rather take your things back for you than someone else. Itâs inconvenient for them to come this way, is it not? Honestly.. It would be no trouble for me.â Even if it was completely out of his way, heaven knows Frederick wasnât joking. They werenât far from his bar as it was, hence why he walked, but he would be more than willing to personally escort Chrom all the way back to his residence without question.Â
Much loyalty. Such wow.
"Though, I do agree. Itâs not often you go out like this." He knows your name and your story. ".. Let me rephrase that. To be honest, I wasnât expecting to see you here alone, milord. Should you not have someone with you? Iâll admit Iâm a little concerned..âÂ
"If you do insist on joining me, then Iâll be sure to offer refreshments upon our arrival. And Iâll take you back personally.âÂ
"Oh!" Eyes light up in surprise at the offer, as a content smile, accompanied by a relieved sigh, rests upon his lips. Despite knowing how Frederick's insight isn't something to be trifled with (ever since youth, Frederick had always known exactly what was bothering Chrom and Lissa, as well as how to fix it), Frederick always had a tendency to be one step in front of either of the siblings. Something about that age factor. Strange...
"I thought I'd give shopping a try today, though..." Answering Frederick's previous inquiry, he frowns a bit, before brightening back up. "And from what I've concluded, it's more difficult than it seems. I attempted to use lists, like you had for us in the past, but even then, it proved to be somewhat of a challenge." A small laugh resounds, rather sheepishly, though Chrom's sure that he covered everything at the store.
"Thank you â I would much appreciate that company."Â Responding, he dips his head in gratitude. He's immensely flattered; and it would be rare of him to turn down an offer to spend time with his former babysitter. Though they were well within the age grouping where they could consider each other on the same level of social standing, eons could pass and Chrom would still consider Frederick as a larger role model of his.
As they progress down the sidewalk, heading for Chrom's mansion, he holds out a bag for Frederick to carry, almost like a silent order, before he catches himself, drawing back his hand with an awkward chuckle. "My apologies... It's a bad habit of mine, I'm afraid."
Olivia wasnât the most likely girl to approach Chrom so brazenly â not because Chrom was hard to approach, he was always friendly whenever they had encountered in the past. That wasnât the problem in the slightest. The difficulty lay in Oliviaâs perception of Chrom. She perceived him to be intimidating because of the sheer bold presence he gave off. It made her heart race and her timidity burst from every edge of her. If others equated Olivia to a star, then to her personally, Chrom must have been the sun. Bright and shining and completely too much for her to handle.Â
It took her several moments to respond and when she did, only a nod was given. It takes all of her willpower to not rush off in any given direction. Nervousness seems forgotten momentarily when his comment catches her ears. Oliviaâs cheeks burn red and she quickly denies that while sheâs supposedly a famed dancer, she believes herself to be inadequate.
"Youâre being too kind, ChromâŚIâm really not all that great."Â
Picking up her pace, Olivia quietly falls into step besides Chrom. Though her reply just now contradicts why sheâs seeking out the bar in the first place, which leads her to shyly tell her companion that if he did truly want to see her dance then if all went well with the job interview, he most likely could sooner rather than later.Â
"If I canât get work there, Iâm sure that Iâll find somewhere to perform in KairosâŚso you really could see me dance somewhere."
Olivia is of a different caliber than he â though Chrom easily surpasses her when it comes to addressing the public, she possesses a finer grace that is to be envied for. (Her toes are light and step artistically when he stumbles, or accidentally smashes the nearest vase.)
"No, no, I insist... You're the finest dancer in this entire nation, I'm sure of it!"Â He tries to speak with confidence, but her sudden onset of shyness causes him to feel the same, his cheeks soon emulating a similar shade of pink. (Though, he has the tendency to raise his voice ever so slightly, when he grows embarrassed â which, perhaps, draws even more attention to them... Oops.)
He listens, nodding in complacence, but he's not sure where to begin when it comes to dispelling her worries, especially since if he was going with her, he could vouch for her skill to the bar owner â whose name he'd been acquainted with for well over a decade. "I don't think Frederick would turn you down, though that decision is ultimately up to him."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
He remembers scraps and bits from his youth, jagged fragments of memories sewn together here and there, not quite synchronous at all. His mother wasn't interesting, and she never did much, in addition to the fact that she and his father were rarely around. Praise always came from his elder sister, Emmeryn, in the form of a gentle headpat and a warm smile. It was her approval that he sought out first throughout his childhood. When their parents passed away, Emmeryn had taken over the duties of healing the damage that their corrupt father had left behind upon the government â and as a result, the carefree days that he and Lissa had once spent by their sister had all but vanished. She stopped by occasionally, and would do her best to make up for lost time, but they understood â they all understood â that the blame for their father's atrocities had been placed upon her shoulders.
So they had waited, and waited, and waited yet even longer.
Emmeryn dropped by every week,
But a week soon lapsed into a month,
Then two months,
Then six...
Then, she stopped coming home entirelyâ
âAs if she'd vanished altogether.
It's been three years since she's left.
He blinks awake today, to an old relic leaning against his bedroom dresser several feet away. It looks extraordinarily out of place, with its tinged, bronze edges, faded and worn from the years it had been of service. But his family had never owned anything of the sort, nothing that he knew of â and any connection he could potentially make was of the lore behind his family, that a long, long time ago, royal blood had flown through their veins. But that was long ago, and he always stopped listening afterwards, finding such topics trite and repetitive. Any other tales of royal folklore â Arthurian, Norse, et cetera â never failed to pique his interest, but regarding his own family history... he'd never really cared.
The sun has just poked its head from beneath the horizon, painting his room a pale shade of morning dawn, and as the sun grows higher, he knows there's no hope of sleeping his day away. He sits up, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand, before slipping out of white bedsheets, shuffling sleepily across his room to figure out exactly what the object was, and what it was doing here to begin with. Perhaps someone placed it here while he was sleeping? Ah, but that didn't make sense â taking into account the high-defense security system installed within the mansion, there was almost no way to bypass it. (Unless you were Gaius, but then again, what business would Gaius have, dropping off a historical artifact? Certainly, it can't be him.)
He crouches down next to it, taking a rather undignified seat on the floor, to examine it further. The top of it is curved, and has been fortified with additional metal of a similar shade. His gaze washes over the bizarre object several times, observing the five dips in its surface. The deepest part of each dip is the center, and he assumes that there once existed five, circular objects, each of a diameter no greater than two inches, who found home within these empty, metallic sockets.
When he moves the shield from its place, however, five marbles â each of a different pastel hue â slowly roll out from underneath. All of them come to a halt, save for one. The green one continues rolling towards him, and stops only when it's bumped lightly against his leg. Curiously, he picks it up, turning it over several times in his palm. Its exterior possesses an otherworldly sheen, delicate and cold. He holds it between his thumb and the tip of his index finger, and as he turns back to the metal shield, it's as if his hand automatically knows where to go.
He slides the green marble into the lowest slot on the right side.
It fits perfectly, with a soft clink.
The next thing he can recollect is the world before his eyes vanishing, with a swirl of neon colors and turbulent reds and greens and blues, scattered in among a sea of black, until he shuts his eyes, trying to block out the colors, all of the colors. And when he opens his eyes once more, he instinctively squints them, struggling to look ahead.
A fierce, sandy wind blows.
His breath comes in short, heaving bursts, composed of deep exhales and inhales and exhales and he's not sure why he feels like he's just run a marathon â or fought a battle. (But he's never known what war was, and he can't seem to locate the nearest payphone.) He brings a hand up to hold his chest, and is startled to find it swathed in a dark glove; peering down at his current outfit doesn't aid his confusion, as he stares gawkily at the blue clothing (Had his sense of fashion always been this bad?), the two white, diagonal straps across his chest, the clunky shoulder-guard on only one of his shoulders, and even the cape that billows out from behind his back. The shield is even in his left hand â equipped and held against his body.
But his time is limited, and a sense of urgency impedes him â an urgency that, like most of these past five minutes, had no explanation, and in any logical world, there was no way he could have ever come across this information. But for some reason, he finds that he simply knows most of the answers, as if he'd lived this life before â but that kind of thinking is silly.Â
"Now, now, my boy â no one needs die today. Not you. Not the exalt. Not your friends. Just lay down your sword, and give me the Fire Emblem."
He jerks his head up, visage instantly twisting into a hateful scowl as the thin, gravelly voice of someone grates against his ears. Through the sanddust, a scene unfolds before him: a man with a flimsy crown, his oily hair colored a dark shade of maroon. The man laughs, and the sound is horrible and screechy; Chrom hates that sound. His skin is ashen, and Chrom wonders for a brief second if having skin of that hue is even natural, until he turns his head to the left, ever so slightly, and sees her.
His sister â the current exalt â standing the edge on a thin precipice.
Multiple emotions run through him at once, everything from overjoy to sheer urgency to mere confusion. Terror washes over him, panic-stricken at seeing her standing so precariously close to danger. A step more, and she couldâ
Wait, was that... Why was she even there...?
...Ah, Fire Emblem. King Gangrel said Fire Emblem.
If he handed over the Fire Emblem, then his sister would be alright.
She wouldn't have toâ
That's how he couldâ
           Chrom had to stopâ
                    Before it was too late....
                           For her, he wouldâ
                                  But, what about the nation...?
"No, wait!"
The shout of his sister's voice, commandeering, elegant, and regal, cuts through the desert winds like a clean knife; it saves him from his indecision. He waits mid-step, pausing to see what she would say next.Â
"King Gangrel, is there no hope you will listen to reason?"
Chrom looks towards the man once more, his heart sinking with each and every word he hears. There's something about this man that he loathes and despises so very much, that makes him want to pummel his fists into the king's stomach until he coughs up bloodâ but when Chrom digs deeper, that's all there is to it. When it comes to fear, he holds none, for this shriveled coward of a king.
"You mean listen to more of your sanctimonious babble? I think not. No, all I want to hear now is the thunk of arrows, and a splat as you hit the ground. Take one, long, last look from your perch. You do so enjoy looking down on people... Then prepare to meet the ground, and your maker! That is, unless someone were to give me the Emblem... now!"
Frantically, he glances down at the heavy, metal shield in his hand, currently missing all of its marbles. (But hadn't he put the green one there this morning...?) He shakes his head; he doesn't have time to dwell on any dissimilarities â his priority, as of right now, is saving his sister. So he lifts his chin, dishes out an answer that tastes bitter on his tongue. "All right, alright. Emm, I know you won't approve, but this is my final decision." He swallows thickly, straining to keep his voice level, but clear. "Maybe some day we'll face a crisis where maybe the Emblem would have helped. But I know for a fact that your people need you, and so do I, and so does Lissa!"
She pauses for a while, from her post, assumingly ingesting his words, and from several hundred feet away, they lock gazes â his, worried, and hers, gentle, thankful. He squints at he from the distance, unable to get a clear view of her face. But he still hears her voice.
"Chrom, thank you. I now know what I must do."
His response is a surprised echo, more than anything, a vocalization of apprehension and tentative fear of the unexpected. "Emm...?"
"I ask that you hear the truth of my words! War will win you nothing but sadness and pain, both inside your borders and out. Free yourselves from this hatred! From this cycle of pain and vengeance. Do what you must... As I will do. See now that one selfless act has the power to change the world!"
No reaction...
         Was I wrong, then?
                        Chrom...
                             This is some torch I'm passing you...
                                                      So be it.
"Emmeryn, please... Wait! Gods... Don't do this!" His ears are blocked with the sound of his blood pounding and his breath quickening, growing rapid and shallow by the second, his chest tightening in panic. His feet move as he runs as fast as he can, but it's too much distance â they don't move fast enough, he's not fast enough.
He knows what she wants to do â and he won't let her do it.
He won't let her sacrifice herself for some magical heap of metal.
His armor clinks as he runs, and the sun beats down heavily on his back,Â
No matter how he reaches, no matter how fast he runs, he just can't quite catch up.
                   Chrom...
                             Lissa...
                                      And all of my people...
She's graceful, even when she falls. She's always been graceful, and Chrom's always admired that about his big sister.
But he wishes she would stop looking so graceful now, several steps from death.
He skids to a halt the very second that her heel leaves the precipice, his frame tense and still with shock. There's a cry in the distance, a feminine one, and without checking, he knows that the voice belongs to Lissa. Her body falls through hundreds of feet of air, and seconds lapse into hours, in a dizzying wave of slow motion. Air expels from his lungs, vocalizing into a shout, into a plea that he doesn't exactly register at first, but it reaches his ears slowly, slowly. Pushing his hand forward, trying to reach for her â despite knowing that with the distance that his overworked legs had yet to cover, it was an impossible dream â feels like running his hand through water.
It's like watching a movie â it's surreal.
This can't be happening, can it?
The sudden impact of her body â a dull thudding sound â against the ground jars him from his paralyzed state, doubling his determination as he finally reaches the top of the stairs, where he finally allows his mind to catch up with his exhaustion.
He sinks to his knees, slowly, his hollow gaze resting upon the dead body of his fallen sister.
                   ...Know, that I loved you.
Brady loomed over a spot on the sidewalk, his expression clouded and heavy as his body trembled in an indescribable mixture of emotion. It felt like it had been a long time since someone had wronged him in such a way, cut him so deeply that he was becoming overcome with distress.
Laying there at his feet was a single flower, one thatâat an earlier moment in timeâwas strong enough to persevere and flourish despite the obstacles of growing between the hardy shell of concrete. Once a vibrant color that shone with the brilliance of life, now was dark and wilted, bent harshly at its stalk where someone had mercilessly trampled over it. The soles of that vandalâs feet tore into the flowerâs once delicate petals in the same way that their treachery tore at Bradyâs heart.
Within moments, Brady felt his body wrung with something that he could not control. It was taking everything in his power to suppress it. The flower did nothing wrong. It was trying its best to survive despite the poor hand it was given, and some schmuck had the nerve to destroy that! The world could be incredibly cruel and unjust and he couldnât take it. He begged his body not to do it, but it was quickly becoming too much.
Brady crumpled to the ground, hugging his knees as he choked a sob.
"I⌠Iâm sorry there, lilâ guy. I know you were tryinâ your bestâŚ"
To an outsider, all of this appears completely odd.
After all, what use was there in grieving over one little flower? There were so many more flowers out there, and plenty of more fish in the sea... Chrom isn't sure whether to be more surprised at seeing someone cry over a dead flower, or that it was someone as old as him to be doing so.
But it isn't like him in any way to mock others over what moved them and what didn't. As a leader, it's his job to be impartial, compassionate, and understanding of the feelings of others, even if they did seem to be a bit... excessive. The exalt squats down next to Brady and hugs his knees in a similar fashion, turning his head to address the blond.Â
"I'm sure the flower tried its best, huh?" Nudging Brady softly, as to not surprise him with his presence, he gestures towards the wilted daisy, observing the snap in its stem. "But looks like it couldn't be helped."
He passes a spare tissue to the other as he pauses, contemplating on the best course of action to take from here. Where most would have bypassed the male awkwardly, he wanted to do more than that! "Would it help if we replanted fresh flowers somewhere else? I think flowers would do well in the park, rather than out here. We can't save this flower anymore, but if we could plant other ones in a safe place, we would ensure their safety."
Maribelle frowned and opened her mouth to reprimand the miscreant who dared to bump into her, but stopped when she saw the orange he held. Not the one he offered to her, as that one was unscathed - but the orange heâd been eating was simply repulsive. Unpeeled, bitten intoâŚwhy, it was practically criminal treatment of the poor fruit! She must educate this poor man before he embarrassed himself in public further. It was her civic duty.
"Are you eating that whole� How barbaric!" Maribelle shook her head and took the proffered orange. "Here. Allow me to show you the proper way to partake of such a treat. I shall demonstrate on this specimen."
She plucked the skin from the orange in one motion and held the spiraled rind aloft. âDispose of this and eat the pieces separately. That is the proper etiquette when one eats an orange.â
"I... am eating it whole..." He responds cautiously, each word spoken with hesitation, arching an eyebrow in her direction. Barbaric? Dark hues glance down at the half-bitten orange in his hand, then back at her, then back down at the fruit again, wondering if it was truly so barbaric in nature to eat an orange this way... Even when he was younger, Frederick hadn't stopped him, nor had it caused him any health issues. "Is there something wrong withâ"
To say that he gasps, while she peels the orange before him, is an understatement. To say that he utters a noise akin to a shriek would be far more accurate. Watching her strip his beloved orange of its peel... It almost pains him, physically.
"But..." His expression appears crestfallen now, as he weakly accepts the peeled fruit and the lonely peel, seeing that he probably has no other choice than to heed her words. Sadly, he puts his unpeeled orange back into the bag and finds a trash can nearby, dumping the peel (though he thinks it a waste â especially after it was peeled so neatly) within, talking on his way back. "Separately? I don't understand why... Especially when eating it whole saves me a lot of time." Chrom shrugs, as words are stated not in rebellion, but mere curiosity.Â
Many would call this sort of taste irrational, or bizarre. Or perhaps weird, in a sense. Not that it was normal. It couldn't possibly be normal.
After all, who would like such a thing?
One would find him walking through a busy farmer's market that early morning. The sun shines, though weakly, as if it, too, had just woken up not so long ago. He lifts his arms in the air to stretch, nearly bumping into several crowds of people. Luckily, he manages to locate his favorite stand within minutes and easily slides up to the counter, where he places down several coins. No words are exchanged in the process; it's quite clear that he's done this more than a few times before. In exchange, he receives a plastic (but rather sturdy) bag of assorted fruit, with emphasis on several of his favorites... mostly oranges.
As he continues to make his way down the bustling street, he withdraws an orange from the bag and proceeds to bite into it, whole, as if it were an apple and the skin was actually supposed to be edible. Another bite, as he glances around, looking for any other potential vendors to visit, until he bumps into someone.Â
Eyes widen in surprise as he lowers the hand with the fruit from his mouth, blinking at the stranger, before an idea hits him, reaching into his bag while asking, "Ah, would you like one?"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
No. No, no, no, no, no. Not him; anyone but him! The girl could have thought of a thousand people sheâd have preferred standing in front of her than Chrom.
"Ah⌠Chrom. I⌠erâŚ"
The words failed to materialise, fumbling around somewhere between her brain and her tongue. Not only was she absolutely lost for words, but the words spinning around in her head werenât exactly helping to get them back on track.
THIS IS IT MY LIFE IS OVER WHY OF ALL PEOPLE DIDHEHAVETOSEE
The laugh didn't help despite Chromâs intentions, in fact it probably did the opposite - this was a library - quiet was enforced, the uproar of someone bellowing through the aisles probably drew even more attention to the couple. Not that they were a couple!
She quickly dropped down to her knees and picked up the book in question, before jumping back up and swinging it under her arm, the problem-causing cover facing her rather than the outside world. She gripped the other stack of books under her other arm, the spines showing they were a mish-mash of ethology reference guides and romance novels.
She coughed, and after taking some deep inward breaths begun to try to explain herself to Chrom; her face still as red as anything.
"As⌠As I was saying, before you drew such silly conclusions, Iâm not despe- Iâm not a fan of things like this! This was a misplaced book and I picked it up accidentally. I mean, look at the spine! It looks like every other book, and⌠how could I have not been a little curiousâŚâ
He remains blissfully oblivious to the emotional turmoil that she was silently undergoing in front of him, and a slight cock of his head to the right reveals his perplexed state. Would people truly think the two were a couple? Though he tries to reason it out, wondering what that idea would be like if it ever did come to fruition, his analysis ends with him scrunching up his face in confusion, the type of face that a youth makes while consuming a vegetable of the most wretched sort.
Ah, there was no way he'd ever date her, and her him! Someone as pretty as her surely had dozens of hopeful suitors waiting upon her. (And how wrong he would be, but when it came to romance, Chrom was far from the sharpest.) Her sudden outburstâ at least, which seemed rather over-dramatic to himâ made little sense, but he watches her pick up the remainder of her books; it takes one glance for him to note the other romance novels mixed in with the ethology texts. But it would be rude of him to speak of the matter, and with the situation having spiraled as downhill as it did...
"I see... It was merely misplaced, that's all." He nods vigorously, believing her words in their entirety, as if that would do the trick in clearing up the stifling level of awkwardness that had settled between the two of them. As the last of his words are spoken, another silence ensues, filled in with the low, general murmur of those at the library, so he speaks up again, offering her a gentle smileâ little does he know the sorts of effects that his smiles have on her. "I apologize for drawing silly conclusions, Cordelia... Might I ask for your forgiveness in this matter?"
It was a disaster!
A catastrophe of epic proportions.
An awe-inspiring calamity.
And⌠it was totally her fault.
Nervously, another soft pink shirt was pulled out of the dryer as blue eyes scrutinized the fabric accusingly, daring it to tell her why it had betrayed her in such a way. Her intentions had been totally benign, really! Sooner or later, Lissa was going to need to develop skills that she could use later in life, especially since she didn't intend to try and make people wait on her the whole time. So, she did the best thing she could think ofâyouâll never know if you can do something if you donât give it a try, right?
Well, apparently she couldn'tâŚ
Throwing down the now clean (if not a bit discoloured) laundry back to the top of the drier, a faint groan was given at the idea of somehow breaking this news to Chrom. It wasnât supposed to be this easy to mess up, and her friends had insisted she could definitely do it herself, so in her confidence she had boldly taken laundry from throughout the whole house for this experiment! However, since it had failed⌠She was going to have to tell her older brother sooner or later to expect every white garment he owned to have turned a bit pinker. He was home right now, wasnât he? Thinking, if she bit the bullet now, itâd probably be better.
Rounding some of her house's numerous corners as she tried to remember which room sheâd last seen him in, eventually peeking through the doorway, she was greeted by a familiar head of blue hair and dorky tattoo. Knuckles gently rapped against the wall as she stepped partially out to become more visible, though her demeanour was obviously a bit timid as she did so, from the tone of her voice it was probably easy to tell she didn't have any good news.
Leaning back in his large armchair, he finds himself thinking less about the odd laundry mission and more about the textbook in his hands, and when he hears a tiny, hesitant rap at the edge of his doorframe (which would be Lissa, he knows; no one else knocks like that), he nearly jumps, almost losing his place in the text. Inserting a small scrap of paper to keep his place, he swivels around, expecting to be greeted with a clean stack of white clothing, but alas...
"Lissa?" No sooner had the name left his lips that he notices the assortment of faint pink clothes that lay in the laundry basket. As if on cue, he feels something freeze within him, in panic, a strange feeling of ice-cold dread, originating as a prickling sensation at the back of his neck and traversing down his spine. Teeth clenched together in a grimace, he asks, cautiously; his wide gaze flickers slowly between her tell-tale expression and the basket of clothing that had been a different color going in the washer than going out.Â
"Are these my... clothes...?" But even without asking, he knows the answer. Eyes shut in silence, as he inhales, then exhales a deep, audible sigh, pressing a hand to his forehead. "It's... It's alright, I can always buy new ones. It's okay, Lissa, I'm not... mad at you, or anything." Though he tries to assure her with his words, his thoughts are on a different path, bordering somewhere between extremely confused and extremely angry, and it is all he can do to restrain himself from raising his voice, because as much as this pink mess saddened him, he would not, under any circumstances, allow himself to lose his temper around his younger sister. Rising from his seat, he maneuvers to the female before him, using a hand to sort through the various rose-shaded layers of fabric. "Let me see..."
After some digging, he pulls out a shirt from the pile, waving it roughly several times in the air to straighten it; a distressed frown is evident on his features, as he examines the damage done, murmuring, in a soft, contemplative tone, "Ah, this was my favorite shirt..."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
At first this was meant to be a mere joke that she shared with another, but it became something much more than that. The heat of the area was certainly getting to some people and luckily she was able to sell a few glasses. It did bring a smile to her features as she did this which rarely happened. Always being more work and less play, this was relaxing. She wouldnât have it any way as she noticed a child walk up to the stand, a smile placed on their lips as well. This made her think of the grandiose childhood that she lived with her sister, having the ability to live life with a gleam in the eyes.
That was what the child reminded her of, the look in their eyes was more than enough for her to share a free glass to them. The way little digits wrapped around the gift and lips that pressed against the surface to swallow down the beverage and a relaxing âahâ escaping from drenched lips showed Lucina that they had enjoyed it. The drink left a cool air that left from oneâs lips, bringing them to be more relaxed and at ease. This was probably what she liked most than anything else about the job.
In moments had she had another customer, she didn't know him at all and somewhat confused that an older gentleman would walk over. Maybe they were around the same age? Lucina truly couldn't tell nor did she want to find out, it would be fine with her to help in anyway possible. Hands finding their way to the pitcher, believing that the man had grown a thirst that was for the famous lemonade she spent her time making. She watched as he looked over the contents of things, probably making a choice of how much sugar he wanted? Or even the amount of diced lemons that would have been preferable.
But in the end, it was nothing like that. A brow raised from her, contemplating what he had said and running the thought though her mind. Did they have any grapes? That wasnât possible, she was a lemonade stand so of course. The girl said, "No, we just sell lemonade but itâs cold and itâs fresh and itâs all homemade.
Why she was also selling diced lemons is beyond his level of reasoning; surely, they would dry out, if left out for too long? But this humble lemonade stand has caught his attention, and for some strange reason, he feels compelled to be near it, and more importantly, to be near the girl who ran the stand. For all he knew, she could potentially be a long-lost cousinâ natural hair color of that shade was uncommon, even in Kairos, or Paralia, for that matter.
He waits patiently several paces away, until the few other individuals at the stand make their purchases and exit the scene, plastic cup in hand. As they pass by, he tunes in to their positive commentary on the flavour of the drink, that it was some extraordinary lemonade and that there was nothing quite like it, but the prince knows that he'll have to test it himself to find out.
"Hmm, no thanks. I'll pass."
Ah, of course. How silly of him to ask, in the first placeâ why would a lemonade stand have any grapes, after all? It wouldn't be customary for them to have grapes. Citrus fruits, maybe. Oranges? A stretch, but perhaps. But not grapes, most definitely not. He glances up again, resting the palms of his hands upon the wooden surface of the stand, dipping his head slightly to be able to look her in the eye.Â
"But by any chance... Would you happen to have any... grapes?" As the last word leaves the tip of his tongue, eyes widen in surprise, for that wasn't what he'd intended to say. A hand flies up to cover his mouth, shielding any embarrassment from view. "Name, I mean! Would you happen to have a name?" A sheepish smile, as he averts his gaze from hers, focusing it upon the unpeeled lemons that lay next to the half-full pitcher. "Gods, sorry, I... don't know what came over me. I'm not usually like this, I promise."
With the messy bouquet rearranged in her arms, Sumia almost drops the floral arrangement yet again when she hears his offer of spending the ENTIRE day with her. Goodness, itâs so exciting, she feels like her heartâs about to burst right out of her chest, especially as Chrom puts even more into her pile.
Although sheâd love to accept his offer to hang out for the entire day immediately, she doesnât want to come on too strong. If anything, sheâd rather play it cool; be nice and steady with an offer to maybe be together for only a few hours, seeing as how they both must have some sort of work to be done! Yes, thatâll show a nice sense of responsibility and maturity â thatâs what Chrom likes, right?
"Hahahahahahehheeheeheeahahehhehhee HA! Oh goodness YES Iâd LOVE to spend the rest of my day with you!" Oh horse plop, so much for playing it cool. âHahahaha!! If youâd like to we can most definitely work on my garden together. Oh, you and your silly vases, donât worry about me, I have plenty back at home, believe it or not!â And so much for not taking him to visit home.
"S-so come on! We can go right now â if it doesn't trouble you at all, of course!" With even more nervous laughter than before, she holds the bouquet close to her chest with a nod before starting off into the direction of her home. "Okay, well, itâs this way!"
A confused eyebrow arches at her bizarre giggle, as he looks at her with a mystified expression, wondering how someone as petite as her could generate such a... strange laugh. But the more he thinks about it, the more confusing it gets, and he mirrors hers with a soft, puzzledâ but still, politeâ chuckle of his own, as he slowly leans away from her, wondering if, perhaps, he should begin to secure escape routes within the vicinity for a quick getaway.
But she'd always been like that, hadn't she? Sort of? While not usually this extreme, Sumia was one-of-a-kind, with her floral hobbies and her clumsy tendencies, through all the years that the two had known each other. And as he eases, he realizes, that she was all the better for it.
"Of course. If you insist, Sumia. However, I don't mind using some of my funds to aid your cause, so please do inform me if my assistance is necessary." He gives her a light smile as he dips his head, confirming her given directions, and walks when she does. "I would not have offered, if this time of day were inconvenient for me." Though he can't quite justify the validity behind the statement of him and all of his supposed silly vases... But of course, he shrugs, thinking nothing much of it. He wasn't the type to look too deeply into words, anyway, a lamentation of the people who fancied him, none of which he knew did so.
As they proceed, he keeps his pace slow enough to remain by her side, hovering close enough, but not too close to the point where it would summon awkward conversation; but he supposes, that he should say something, at the very least. He lets out a small yawn (the product of sleepless study nights) as he places a hand on his arm, rubbing idly as he glances up; hopefully, his question wasn't too odd, as the two round a corner of a residential street. "How far do you live from here?"
jbbartram-illu
blakekathryn
baratheonpilled
stormborns
janainaart
annaxmalina
yousharknotpass
