Black Sheep

The chorus of a day’s worth of work was the silence that came after a storm. He had done away with the chafed atmosphere early on, curtailing boundless chattering about last weekend. Midsommar had quite literally burned both ends of his candlewick, since he had severely bruised a couple of ribs under the weight of pies and had to pry burning plywood off a wilting stage. Had he not known any better, Lukas Roth was possibly (?) incensed. (Though he debated whether his exasperation doubled over into cold apathy, again.) So, he couldn’t even deem his irritation so passionate as to compare it to embers.

To be forthright– the workings of this monastery were a world away from the graceless stench of war.

In fact, he no longer wondered why the Deliverance and its war managed to choke out most of the petty issues. Enough of this nonsense could have managed to wreak enough havoc to force Commander Slayde to retire his coat tails, and probably would have left Clive in shambles. Lukas, filing through his papers and other miscellaneous scrolls, felt that student follies were, perhaps, a privilege of peace.

Or a matter of coping.

He sorely wondered how many held a cast beneath their tattered past.

Didn’t matter. They were all here without those telling secrets. And apparently-- He eyed the woman who had previously raised her hand at him. The world would move forward. Ah, the gall of it all.

“Miss Nevrand. If you’ve come for anything less than an apology, I’d advise against it.” Lukas didn’t raise his voice. In fact, he was a vision of indifference (and the colorless hues that that entailed.) 

“I am not required to have an audience with you.”

[➴] Ah, he must still be mad. Makes sense.

Inhale. Exhale.

Exhale again.

Without words, she places a sash on his desk- it had a alluring aroma to it, and a moon design stitched upon the burlap. A flavor that did not belong in Fodlan; but that was quite like her anyway. Finally, she breaks the wall of silence; because if she did not, how else does one move forward?  " I've done some thought.” Shamir begins her speech. “And I’ve wanted to apologize for losing my temper towards you- it rarely happens.” She hated losing control. It was unlike her. “I am aware you did not deserve that treatment. Hate me if you want but I know how to take responsibility if I was in the wrong." Shamir keeps it simple, short and sweet, and to the point.

          felix starts slightly. ❝ you… will? ❞ he hadn’t expected that. when she’d said she was here to ‘ check it out ’, he’d assumed she’d be keeping to the sidelines, appraising things from the shadows. from the talk that went around about her, he’d thought that would more suit her approach. but, if she shares his attitude, then… hm. so that’s how she sees it.

          at her gesture of invitation, a confident smile turns his lips, narrows his eyes, as he nods. ❝ okay, sure. ❞ normally, he’d decline the idea of undertaking a challenge like this with someone else, especially someone he doesn’t know well. but this could be interesting, and might open up opportunities for him to see how a knight of seiros acts in a situation like this.

          ❝ you two! are you next? come on up! ❞

          the call comes from one of the spellcaster’s club students standing in front of the doorway leading to the supposedly ‘ fabled ’ darkened hall, dressed in ostentatious robes and manning a cauldron that bubbles and emits some kind of pale blue mist across the entryway, likely to lend some ominous effect. he’s looking right at them.

          ❝ that was faster than i expected, ❞ he remarks, then glances at shamir as though to say ‘ are you ready? ’ before turning and making for the front of the line.

[➴] Ready than I’ll ever be. The faux student follows the student’s lead in stride, only to be greeted with a piece of paper smacked right in her face. Shamir pulls it off, maintaining her cool demeanor. (She was annoyed.) “The hell?” Now what did she just stepped into? The inside of the ‘arena’ had floating objects from all over the school grounds. Missing books, missing pots, pans, vegetables, clothes even--(She swore she had seen a pair of light blue undergarments) Eyeing her attention towards Felix, the woman was wondering if he had the answers to this nonsense.  “Is it us against them? Or--” The woman drops down to the floor, to dodge a frying pan that ends up crashing onto the floor with a loud clank. “Too close.” She mutters, frankly a bit irritated of the scene before her. Such a mess. A child’s play it was. Shamir notices a book headed towards Felix’s direction.

 “Watch out!” 

@godlessarrow

Corrin sits in the Common Room on the second floor, a cup of tea before him. A yawn escapes his lips as he looks out at the early morning sky from the windowsill his tea is sat on. It’s not dark, yet the sun hasn’t completely risen yet either.

Taking the tea from the windowsill, he makes his way to a table in the center of the room. It’s not a usual fixture of the room but it’s been brought in specifically for this meeting. Lowering himself into the chair, he takes a sip of the tea as he leans into the table before him.

“Shamir,” Ignatz said, pausing to put the words in his head. He couldn’t look to her as he said it, but he told her the truth. “When I first met you and asked for you to help teach me, literally and morally, I was utterly terrified.”

“And, as much as I hate to say it, you’re really, really upsetting me.”

It was odd for him to hear the assertiveness and loudness in his own timbre. Ignatz wasn’t mad, he couldn’t be mad, but he sure wasn’t getting through to her.

“A symbol of wealth? You’re out of your mind, and I only said that because I wanted something that would make sense to you. I have seen a lot of people express it over and over, you all think my beliefs are ridiculous.”

He whipped off his glasses and clutched his face in the opposite hand. Nothing stung more than having to take in the context of the words he was uttering. “You ask me a hypothetical and ignore that I take it in a different context than you!” With a shudder and wince, he elaborated. “In your eyes, I’m just a cowarding painter trying to become a knight but failing on his false hopes and ambitions.”

He lifted his head from his hand. Cheeks dusted with red, but void of tears staining them, he continued, “And what I hate is you’re right. That’s what I am. You tore me to bits, but you have no idea what I went through to get this far into my own Romanticism.”

“For me, right here, right now, there is no fighting to the bitter end or letting me be accepted because it will only put me worse where I started off. I can put my hobbies and wants aside, I’m a patient person and to be able to hold back your ambitions can save your life. If I would rather a devout-ists fantasy where I don’t have to worry about the tribulations of my life over living my ambition without a roof over my head and any skill to stand on, why does that make me the one with the bad attitude?”

Then, so suddenly as he got so heated, he fell back into his puppy-dog whines. “Why do we have to fight about this? What am I to learn?”

Fragile as he was, Ignatz dug his heel so intensely into the floor to stop himself that he might as well had carved a hole in it. For a moment, Shamir only got his back turned to her. The sight was… by absolutely no means threatening.

But a voice did eventually pick up in his lungs. “You… You just completely proved the reasoning of my answer, Shamir.”

He span around, and looked her dead on, refusing to take his seat again by her side. “Think about it,” He said, “I myself cannot make someone like you believe in anything, and furthermore, I’ll never be able to make you want anything of mine. My service, my help, and this isn’t even a issue of dreams.”

“But, if I could see the Goddess, and I could prove that, I’d be a rich man!” Ignatz proclaimed. Yet, he felt a pang in his chance as he answered. He wanted to give her at least one realistic reason for his choice, but even then that didn’t bode well with him.

With a single pull he cleared the lump in his throat, and continued to speak with a smile. “But, yet, the Goddess would have to relent and show herself to me for a reason. I don’t know why she would accept me, but if we are playing the hypothetical I would hope that it is because I’m of some use to her. Whatever it is, I would always accept what she would choose for me to do.”

Ignatz lingered on his thoughts for a second. “It’s the least I could do for someone who accepts me. Simple as it is, that doesn’t always happen Shamir, and I think you would get that. I mean, you even have to exaggerate that I’m still alive.”

sclera reddened with weariness, veins inflamed from rubbing and wiping the sleep dust that encrusted eyelashes burdened. amber eyes peered from underneath a hood of velvet red quickly flicked to view the mercenary’s face, inquisitive gaze searching the fortune teller for signs of deceit before a sigh escaped from her breath. 

“the only fate i accept is happy endings with my family,” she murmured before the fortune teller interrupted her, severity ingrained within those deep grooves anointing visage. 

“your desires may lie in an unexpected place.” slight twitch of wolfish ears indicated her surprise.