heroes never die ; they keep you from dying

Well, she was, until she shifts her balance just out. She feels herself wobble, and panic takes over. She doesn't know if she's overcompensating or not trying hard enough, but either way, she slips. An icy grave would await, if Gerome wasn't death gripping her.

Fiora narrows sharp dark blues at them, considering. The pallor of their faces. The sweat on the back of their necks. The way their eyes trail. The forced casualness of their words.

They’re lying. It’s plain as the sunlight of day, trailing through tree leaf, setting the world alight. It’s as obvious as anything can be. They aren’t being upfront.

One of the clay creatures stares directly at Fiora again, big pleading glowing orbs, and Fiora loses her breath.

Fiora is no longer a leader. She’s put that way of life behind her. She can’t grab the reins of the situation and decide what to do, especially with the life of another behind her. But... how can she walk away from this?

“Our mistake, then,” she says, to the man, staring at them with no trust in his irises.

Another of the men huffs. “You two, get in the sky, scan for any more monsters!”

Fiora pulls her to one side, and Cynthia is broken from her thoughts. "What?" She's echoing Cynthia's worries, then. She doesn't like distrusting people, but she's been fooled before by people who seem nice. Still, she doesn't like it.

Her attention turns to the clay creatures. They are just clay, she thinks, but there's something about them. It's like those statues, she thinks, the kind whose eyes follow you no matter where you go. She knows in her gut that's not it.

"There's something more to them," Cynthia says with a decisive nod. "They're alive, aren't they?" When she says it, she knows it's true. It's ridiculous, but there's no other explanation.

This brings him back. In their youth, they'd formed the Justice Cabal alongside their friends, and they had slain a great number of beasts and saved just as many helpless innocents. The heroes of their own tales, children striving to live up to the greatness of their parents in a world that teemed with fear.

Gerome lifts up a long stick and breaks off the few twigs that cling to it. Then he brandishes it as one might a sword, 'sheathes' it at his side, and kneels before Cynthia with his head lowered.

"My lady."

That's what Cynthia things when her fiancé - yes, she must call Gerome that at all times - kneels before her, his new blade at his side. Though now, she is no longer Cynthia - she is now Beano, the barbarian queen. All hail her might!

Gerome leans in and kisses her, at the same time using his thumb to wipe away her tears. Then he kisses her again, lips shifting and shaping against hers, and then another at the corner of her mouth, and another on her jaw.

She'd wanted it. Dreamed of it, even. She never thought it was possible.

Even on that day as children, Cynthia knew she loved Gerome. Her heart swooped for him like her pegasus swooped across the clouds. Now, all these years later, he's hers.

Interrupting feels rude. But she’s the one with the feed, and these chicks are going to be hungry.

“You look good with them,” she says, softly. She walks in, and maybe it’s the soft noise of the feed in her hand, but the chicks sing a chorus for her, chirps begging for food, little wings flapping fruitlessly, unable to fly but desperate for food. Fingers ache as she messes with the fastenings on the feed, but, finally, she undoes the tie and throws the feed out for the small, yellow chicks, too small for their downs to come in yet. They scatter around, pecking at the seed.

Fiora smiles up at Cynthia, eyes soft and kind, if tired and somewhat sad, in their own right. “Good morning, Cynthia.”

She looks at her friend with a grin. "Fiora! It's been like, ten years!" Since the ball really, but a lot has changed. "I'm a knight now!" Incredible that's the first thing she thinks to say to her friend.

Fiora sets down the bag of feed, and Cynthia sets her little buddy down. It run-waddles to its food, Cynthia forgotten. "I don't blame the little guy - I'd also run away if food gets dropped on me like that."

At Cynthia's words, he nods, and then gets up to look through the bag they'd been given for their assignment. He pulls out the first thing he grabs, a bottle, and offers it to Cynthia.

"Er, right!" She takes the bottle, and tries offering it to the doll. It only screams louder. "Jeez! For something so fake, it's got a set of lungs!" She wants to cover her ears, but she'd have to drop the doll - that would be missing the point.

Unfortunately, that was not Bruno — no matter how hard he was trying. The boats were tippy, and he found himself sitting quite rigid in his own canoe as his oar struggled to pull through the water. A sharp breath as the boat suddenly shifted to the left. His own body moved on instinct as it flailed to keep his balance.

Regret was starting to creep in: out of all hobbies out there in the world, why did this have to catch his interest? Canoe jousting was fun, in theory only. The worst part about canoe jousting wasn't even the jousting part, he thought bitterly: it was the canoeing that he found more difficult than anything.

Regardless, he would learn, one way or another. He took a deep breath to steel himself — the only way to enjoy himself after renting this boat would be to at least joust a round or two. Right? Eyeballing the opponent cruising ahead of him, he waved his oar into the air to try and catch her attention.

"Hey," he called. Another tip to the right, as he stumbled to grip the side of the boat. "Do you have an opponent yet?" Maybe some advice?

It wasn't as easy as she thought, but it wasn't super hard. It hurt her arms to row, yet she kept pushing. Heave, ho!

Someone called out to her, someone who somehow looked more lost than Cynthia. She had no idea who this guy was, but this called for a hero's aid, and by gum, she'd give it!

You know, from a safe distance on her little canoe.

"Er, well... I think your opponent is your boat," she said with a laugh. "Sorry, sorry! It's just- you're gonna fall if you keep flailing like that!" She hoped he could swim. For that matter, could Cynthia swim? Eh, she couldn't row a boat, and now she could, so it couldn't be that hard.

He really wasn't just going to get it out, huh? Cynthia shouldn't reward this behaviour. She should just leave him high and dry and maybe just touch herself.

But she did like it when boys squirmed for her.

His bottom lip pulled between too eager teeth that threatened to break the skin. A deep breath in, taken with eyes closed so he could focus on the feeling of her palm alone.

"You want to ride me while I'm limp? What a kinky woman you are--"

A shudder raced through his nerves and his legs gently pulled up. "I'd like to see you try it. I'm not as easy as whoever else it is you've dealt with."

"Of course not, silly. I'd get you going again." No, she can tell this guy isn't like any she's dealt with before. That's part of the fun, right? He's definitely not a one-and-done.

It makes him much, much more fun to play with.

He isn’t a knight in anything but technicality, and he likes it that way: He has taken in interest (in loose terms) in the Knight’s operations, insofar as a representation of the ways of the rest of the world, but personally? Sin has no need for any of it. He knows what works and what doesn’t, and he doesn’t need any bastards in shining armor barking orders at him to do his job properly: He had enough of that working as a mercenary when Lady Sue had disappeared.

Someone knocking what feels like their entire body into his shoulder interrupts his thought process, and it’s just as fast as they’re doubled over on the ground next to him, prattling on about a book in her possession; and clearly one they prize dearly. Through the corner of his eye he can see the words Regarding Knights and Chivalry on it’s front, and Sin knows immediately that he has pretty much no interest in it.

"Well, still, I'm sure this can apply. Either way, you and me, we're hired weapons. I just have a fixed employer, and you don't." Is that judgemental? It's not meant to be: Cynthia just enjoys talking. She's not put off by this guy whatsoever, not when she's used to the more standoffish types.

"So!" If this guy is itching to leave, Cynthia doesn't notice. She flicks to a page in the book. "For example, a knight should always be chivalrous, such as defending a woman's honour." Squint. "Huh. I mean, yeah, but it's not just women that need protection." Another flick. "Okay, this is more like it! A knight should always have perfectly polished armour, with no dings and dents in the metal." She slides a hand under her breastplate to show off - the tada is merely implied, other than stated.

"You know, there's plenty of merchandise for sale," Mercedes says, smiling although something about the customer made her skin crawl. She maintains a cheery disposition despite her personal feelings, hoping to assuage the man's anger. "If it's for sale, it'll be on the table with a price tag."

His skin turns ruddy in the afternoon light. A withering look is turned her way, one that would make a less brave woman shrink away. Mercedes however, is truthfully sick and tired of rich, powerful men thinking the world owes them something.

"And I want the brooch, girl," he spits at her, "why don't you go find your master and make yourself useful."

"There's no need to be so rude," Mercedes retorts with a frown, "I want a parfait but alas, this lady isn't selling them. It would be silly of me to get mad at her. Perhaps you should look elsewhere?"

The man's hand moves to his belt, there's a flash of metal in the sunlight and Mercedes immediately jumps back in horror. He snarls as he steps towards her, expression causing her blood to turn to ice.

What she wouldn't do for a knight in shining armour right now...

Yeah, sure, it isn't much, but it's more than the old peanut she had in her pocket. A peanut is a peanut, but money can be exchanged for goods and services - including more peanuts.

That's not why she's in Pearl Shoals - or not entirely, anyway. It's weird wandering about in armour instead of in a uniform: this will take some getting used to. Her spear is glued to her back, ready for anything. That part isn't new, at least.

It's nice to wander, actually. Hum-de-hum-de-

"Hoodlum!"

She sees the man brandishing a knife at a woman. There's no hesitation. She leaps in to the defence, brandishing her lance at the man.

"By order of the Knights of Seiros," Cynthia declares, chin held high and her lance point held higher, "I demand that you put down your knife immediately."

This isn't the point, and she knows it's not, but she feels so cool right now with her lance at the ready. Of course, the guy doesn't look any less angry. Cynthia turns her head over to the woman she's rescuing.

Gerome presses closer to Cynthia's back and lets his hands close around hers, preventing her, for the moment, from opening the box. It's partly to steady his nerves even though he knows her answer. He's known for a long time now.

"It's for you." His voice breathes against her ear. "Neither of us knows the future, but if there is anything I am certain of, it is us."

Over a year ago and he wouldn't have been able to say that. He loves her, he's always loved her. It comes as easy as flying. Yet like this feeling that's bloomed within his chest, it has not always come easy to him. It is the woman in his arms who taught him both.

There's no saying he won't be hurt still. That something won't happen to Cynthia. Death will always have its due.

But he won't hide in the shadows anymore.

"And whatever comes, I will face it at your side. Be it our past or my demons or any challenge that awaits us."

Carefully, he moves her fingers so that they open the box together. It pops open before their eyes to reveal a gold ring inlaid with simple gems. One of the rings she had pointed out on their numerous shopping trips.

Oh.

Oh.

Cynthia is never rendered speechless. She's always chatty - too chatty, some would argue. Her fingers are used to pop open the box, and she knows this ring. She had pointed it out and talked about it too long while they were shopping. She didn't know if Gerome was listening, and she wouldn't have minded if he didn't; Cynthia knows she talks and talks.

Here it is in her hands. It's just as pretty as she remembers - prettier, even. She doesn't need something flashy and expensive, and she never did. He could have proposed with a ribbon and she'd say yes.

A year and a half ago, she couldn't have imagined this. She couldn't even imagine that he liked her. Now he's whispering the words she's heard in her dreams since she was just a little girl.

She's staring at the ring, and it shimmers in the early morning light. When Cynthia blinks, her vision sharpens, and she notices how heavy her breaths are. "I-" Her voice is thick and croaky.

"I wanna marry you. Of course I wanna marry you, silly." Ever since she was little, when Gerome called her cool and strong and beautiful, she loved him, even if she hadn't known then what love was. She hasn't stopped feeling it since then.

She sniffles. "I wanna turn around, but-" She laughs, the sound wonky through her tears. "But I can't. I'm so gross." She tries to wipe her tears, but fresh ones replace them.

In a few hours they'll be getting ready to go to work. For the past several months they had both been acclimatizing to being official Knights of Seiros. He may not believe in the deity, but he believes in the work and in the monastery, and that's good enough for him.

Most of all, he believes in the woman in his arms. Cynthia sleeps soundly, her back to his front, and Gerome simply watches her. The way her chest rises and falls. The way her hair spills when it's not tied up. He wants to reach over and kiss her but that would wake her and Gerome has other plans for the moment.

Before going to sleep, Gerome placed her gift nearby. A white pegasus plush that matches her own Baby. He bought this one from the store some months ago. With the knight work, they had both been too tired to do much but exist these days, but each passing day brings him further away from his promise to propose to her. He's done waiting.

Carefully, so as not to move her, he finds the plush and brings it around. Around its neck is a white ribbon attached to a box that he had nestled between the pegasus's front legs. A ring box. It's a simple ring inlaid with small jewels, nothing terribly fancy but Cynthia had pointed it out when they went shopping one day. He tucks the pegasus in her arms, checks to make sure she's still sleeping, and then lays back down.

Now to wait...

In the months she's spent with Gerome (heh, it's been almost a year since they got together!), he probably knows this about her. She drools. She snores. She talks in her sleep. She takes up the whole bed, and he doesn't complain! Boy, he must really love her.

She really loves him, too. She'd wait and wait forever for him, even longer if she has to. It's why Cynthia's been patient. Six months and no ring? Well, she's not worried, she doesn't need it. She's happy. She's giving him hints about what rings she likes, but if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen. No biggie.

She slowly wakes up for the day, in their room. Their room - she'll never get used to that. It's too early, too cold, too everything. If there's one thing that makes mornings easier, it's waking up in Gerome's arms. Half asleep, she snuggles into him.

She's also snuggling something else. It's soft to the touch, and also squishy. It can't be the blanket. She blinks awake, to find something white in her arms. "Is this-?! It is!" It's a plush pegasus from that store.

“No,” Fiora murmurs, voice stern in the recognition. “No, a glaive did not activate.”

Does that mean... this creature is...?

But there is no time to think. They are in battle. Heart seizing as though something is wrapping around, too-tight, tourniquet, to staunch blood, to stop her heart, to stop everything, she goes to protect the clay automaton that’d jumped into the fray. Her lance bears into the creature attempting to tear clay asunder and twists, sharp point birthing blood and gore from subsequent stabs until the writhing mass falls still, maw once dangerous falling open in peaceful, dead serenity. A strange sickness settles in Fiora’s stomach.

The clay creature shoots her a look — nothing more than collected light reflected inside a hollow crevice, but somehow... Fiora swears it is begging her.

“Good work, pegasus knight,” says one of the hunters, clapping her on the back.

Fiora knows this is a horrible idea. An idea she should not act upon. But...

Cynthia doesn't have the time to do more than shout as her fellow pegasus rider charges. She's defending the clay beast - why? Cynthia doesn't know if she'd do the same. She stands there, watching. The beast feels alive in a way she can't explain, but she knows it's alive.

A hunter approaches, and Fiora speaks before Cynthia can.

"That's right!" she chimes in anyway. "What are those things? They're not just clay statues, are they?

The man looks at the clay creature, considering. "I don't know what you mean. It's a hunk of clay."

"Sounds like a death trap," he states bluntly. "But they're on, so let's try."

She steps, slowly, hesitantly, towards the ice. She feels so wobbly on these thin little stilts. Once she's close, she takes Gerome's hand.

“See? Easy.” They're not even on the ice yet. She leads them both carefully, really carefully, to the ice. She looks at Gerome, before sticking a skate onto the ice. “Easy does it.”