it's the lioness that hunts

Treating them like training dummies and punching them to smithereens is a bit much though.

Byleth can't even tell if this is on purpose of if someone is that clumsy. He follows the trail towards the Goddess Tower, the most heavily surveilled part of the monastery. Whoever it is, they're likely in there right?

She had a few more choice words for the devices, that seemed to hover and stick to her sides no matter where she stepped. Ostensibly, they were merely to monitor the path into the Goddess Tower, and while that in itself was all well and good, Lachesis found sight of them in other places as well, popping up well into the cathedral proper, along the bridge into the reception hall, dotting the dormitories and the training hall, and even, on an occasion or two that really drew her ire, around the perimeter of the sauna. 

Any of these would have been sufficient to draw her ire, in truth, and she would not have been remorseful if she had been intentional in destroying them – not that it mattered after the fourth or fifth, and there came a time when Lachesis' instinct was purely to treat them like the invasive little insects that they were. 

The pure nerve, to spy on those in the monastery halls. The thought brought her to seething the more she lingered on it, and linger was all that she could do once they well and truly began to crop up everywhere. It seemed that there was no choice but to have eyes on one's back wherever one went - as though many people here did not deserve the dignity of a moment to themselves. 

Attending the Ethereal Ball requires dancing, and so dance she shall. Petra is paired with a woman she doesn't recognize, but the confident ease and elongated posture makes it clear she is noble.

From the corner of her eye, she sees the other dancers exchanging flowers, and she wordlessly presents a hyacinth to the woman. A meaningless gesture, really, as the flowers are unceremoniously placed to the side as the group begins the dance. Petra is used to learning on her feet, and in this case, literally learning the dance as she hears the song for the first time. She expects strings and whatever variation of the waltz that has gotten the public's attention. Much to her surprise, a syncopated drum beat is followed by a high-soaring woodwind, and the dancers around her stomp their feet and clap to the rhythm. It is boisterous and it is joyous, and Petra loses herself for a moment and forgets to mind the number of teeth she shows when she smiles.

She was skilled enough at those taught to her ilk - bastard or not, she was descendent of a Crusader, and her education included enough waltzing to make her head spin - but the ones she really delighted in were those that brought a group to life, be they the ones on the floor with them, or the many feet that had stomped out the rhythms before, under a vast expanse of a starry sky, or beside the roar of a bonfire with, or merely between two people.

Nearly breathless, cheeks burning with the grin of delight, Lachesis turned to the young lady as she spoke, before shaking her head.

"No, it's very much true. She was supposed to attend with that Thomas fellow, but it seems," a pause, lasting long enough for them both to spot the woman in question, "that she has found Timothee to be a better partner. There are bets, now, to see which man will end up drawing his blade first."

It isn't normally the kind of gossip that Zephia cares about, but the ball is a dreary affair, and she is not at all interested in seeing couples dance and giggle and stumble their way through the routines they should have all known by heart. Unfortunately, that also means that, comparatively, it becomes far more interesting to see where the rifts among the attendees have begun to form.

"I imagine you must've attended and seen plenty of events like this back in your homeland. Even their little lovers' spat must be quite tedious for you, Lachesis."

—crash!

Thomas was a lout, and Timothee a braggart - neither were worth the soil on the soles of their boots, let alone the attention of any woman in the ballroom, and yet they both held the young lady transfixed and, more irritatingly, indecisive.

“If it were as simple as a decision, then I don’t suspect that either should draw blade - oh, Crusaders, the fool has used the dessert spoon.”

Lout and Braggart crashed against one another and it was clear from the jump that neither had paid the slightest lick of attention during their martial lessons, struggling and scuffling less like fine military officers - purported - and more like gangly boys.

Lachesis sipped neatly at her water, watching the scene through narrowed eyes. Zephia had been correct that she’d seen things like this - if not this precise situation, again and again - and indeed, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

She had noticed them when she first walked in. Recruiters, scouts, those with a keen eye for talent. Whether or not this was true was something Niamh did not have the background to know. But, when she sees someone say No, she knows that it means No.

"Did you not hear...?" She asks, no obvious ire in her voice, yet holding an intimidating weight to it. "When someone says no, they mean it...I will repeat it until you understand..."

Were it anyone else, maybe they'd think the 'threat' of sorts is in name alone. But, true to who Niamh is, she does in fact repeat the word 'no' until the strange scout leaves.

"I think they understand now..."

"Cut a pretty figure on the stage. You tied down to the monastery?"

"Excuse me, I am merely attempting to reach - "

"Could give you fame, if you wanted! Name in lights!"

"I said excuse me, although perhaps you didn't hear me over - "

"Music, cheering fans - !!"

"If you don't step away from me this instant - "

Loathe be it for Lachesis to desire the need for another person, where her own declination was insufficient, but that the other woman was willing to step in gave her a thrill of vicious solidarity as they both cut an intense and united stonewall for the purported scout, who paused before eventually skittering away to till different pastures.

Lachesis' eyes bored a hole into their back at the retreat, before glancing to meet the expression of the mysterious young woman.

"My apologies that you felt the need to get involved - what a persistent little rodent, a surprise for what is apparently quite a prestigious competition, at what is apparently an illustrious academy." Her tone was polite, though it held the weight of accusation that such a venue would invite these types to begin with.

Wait, that person was a rodent? They didn’t look like someone with ears and a tail. Her head tilts in the other direction, attempting to recall that person’s features. They looked perfectly like a person, not like a mouse or a rat…

“I think…there’s always people here,” she eventually decides on, “that like to see what they can get away with…they don’t always understand when no actually means no…” It was new for here to see someone trying to search for talent, though. For the upcoming event? It had to be for that. 

“Oh…” the sight of the flowers reminds her. She’s got Tulips of her own to exchange, but before that, she places a hand over her chest. “I am Niamh…if someone else bothers you, then you can tell me…” It’s an offer more than a requirement, since Niamh can tell that Lachesis can probably handle things on her own, too. Still, with the number of people here, it doesn’t help to have the option just in case. 

It seemed to bother the both of them less with each passing moment, and somehow more - the knowledge that there was something untoward that need be stopped, but the comfort that they had found in stopping it as one.

Lachesis considered the selection of tulips carefully, silent for a moment, bringing one finger to crook at her lips before nodding, and tugging a vibrant red from the bouquet.

In its place, from her own bouquet, she tugged a stark white lily, and carefully secured it.

“There. And now, we have a bond, don’t we? As silly as it sounds - these flowers will wilt and die, but I assure you that I shall not forget your name or your face, or your kindness.”

When the bouquet of lilies is handed to her, she has to laugh. It isn't often that she is associated with anything but roses, but on this night, she finds she doesn't mind the divert, finds it fitting - especially with the outfit that she has picked, it feels almost divinely accorded.

She takes a step into the ball room, commanding without necessarily meaning to, and while she finds herself on no one's arm she can of course be found milling occasionally around her daughter and her dearest friend. This is a festival for the living, and Lachesis is determined to find the spark of hope and love that they all so desperately need.

[ WEEK ONE PROMPTS ] [ WEEK TWO PROMPTS ]

Rose: Berkut, Wolf, Elffin, Kurt

Orchid: Finn, Lene, Azura, Bernadetta, Nanna, Flayn

Lily: Celine, Hilda, L'Arachel

Hyacinth: Estel, Ronan, Clair, Miriel, Petra

Tulip: Tsubaki, Niamh, Dorothea, Travant, Tamamo, Deirdre

(NOW WITH FIT ART BENEATH THE CUT - THANK YOU KUNO :pien::pien::pien:)

[ CORN ] - A new strain of corn has been bred in Bergliez with a curious trait—it pops when exposed to heat, becoming light and fluffy! Help yourself to a bag; it's a little bland on its own, but you get the feeling you could find something to spice it up.

"The texture is rather curious, isn't it?" Kurt remarks on the strange little snack to someone else who had come by the refreshment table. "I have had a few dishes with corn it in since coming to this land, but the texture is completely different here. If I hadn't been told its name, I would have a hard time believing it's the same food based off texture and appearance alone."

Still, if there is one aspect alone that makes it hard to deny that this must be corn, it's that frustrating insistence on getting stuck in your teeth. This is a party filled with noble lords and ladies, so it's not like one can just stand in front of the refreshment table picking their teeth either. It's a clever little politeness trap that you must either bear with for the sake of socializing or use as an excuse to free yourself from awkward conversation.

In other words, the innovations of Bergliez might actually be quite impressive.

Either way, when Kurt stops to actually take a look at his conversation partner, he is startled to find a deceptively familiar face. Her hair is longer and there is slightly less of the roundness of youth to her face, so it is unlikely to be the same person unless somehow years passed in a matter of months and he hadn't been aware.

She smiled at the young man, talking through his feelings on it, and Lachesis popped another few pieces into her mouth, allowing it to melt on her tongue.

“The flavor by itself is not so special - “

“You’ve gotta put the butter on it, miss. Here - you too, young sir?”

The attendant had a rough quality to their voice, and the hands reached without being invited, dousing their bags in a liquid so golden she thought it nearly made of salt and light itself, before handing it back.

Lachesis nearly commented on this - on all of it, the presumption, the new taste, the whole affair - before the question hit her, and she turned with a blink, a slow smile dawning on her face before reaching her brows, lifting toward her hairline.

“You know my Nanna? Yes! She is my daughter - oh, tell me, do you spend much time with her? It is rare that I speak with a friend of hers - we have a close family unit, but of outside connections -” A laugh, not self-conscious, but self-aware.

Because he doesn't know. There's so much of her life that he doesn't know, and yet it translates to so little for her, and all of it falls out of step anyway. There are years of his life that she will never understand in her absence, and years of hers that he will never understand in turn.

But she looks at him as she always had; stubborn, determined, with a fire in her eyes that burned strong enough to make up for the absence of any of in his.

She looks so much like her daughter in moments like these.

Finn doesn't laugh, but his exhale can be interpreted as she wished. "A moment then." And if a moment becomes another, becomes another, becomes another...the he can only thank his luck that he has that moment at all.

So when Lachesis lunged, Hector jumped backward—jumped too far, and collided with another dancer, staggering after they shove him off them.

"Just—" Hector paused to throw his cape back behind him. "Just warming up." Arms up and between himself and the blade, Hector's hunched back and blazing stare was now less of a princess's and more of a grappler's.

But on her next strike, he didn't dodge far enough. The sword snagged his shirt, would have sliced clean through it if it weren't a ceremonial blade, the thrust popping off one of his gilded buttons instead.

She suspected that he did not, but that he thought it mattered - or rather, that he thought it was so different to be capable and to be presentable.

A delicate snort, before she lunged another step, striking at the tips of his elbows before spiraling just out of his path once more.

Eldie would not need to make such excuses.

The tilt of her lips became wistful. Indeed, Eldigan would have performed all dances to a degree of perfection that she suspected none other in the room would have had the ability to see, merely to feel that his presence was there, and that would have been enough.

Céline coolly watches as a brunette haired woman flits about from person to person, attempting to offer what seemed to be... mint candies?

"Poor thing." She says to Lachesis, "I cannot possibly fathom why she seems so desperate to be rid of them. It appears to go beyond a mere distaste of sweets..."

Humming, she lightly sips her drink.

“Indeed,” she allowed, after a beat. “It does seem particularly excessive - one could merely refuse a gift, I suppose, but to make a public spectacle of attempting to pawn it off onto another is…absurd at best.”

She had other words, far less kind, roiling in her head, still steaming at the interaction with the girl, and worse with the puffed up wyvern who called himself her father. When she wanted to think of Altena, she had wanted to think of Quan, of Ethlyn, of her dear friends who had sacrificed all - or even of little Leif, who had not grown to be so callous.

A sigh, shaking her head. She knew she was being uneasonable, but there seemed no end to the blaze that kindled to think of it all - it wasn’t about the mints, it was everything added to a sum greater than any child should be forced to hold to account.

And yet.

[ SHADOW ] - An intense tango that celebrates the diversity of desire. Incorporates sharp, rhythmic movements that shift effortlessly from dependence and independence on one's partner, intimate closeness and playful distance. The result is a dance that looks almost as much a competition as it is a collaboration.

THIS IS HIS MOMENT OF TRUTH: His first dance of the night! Tsubaki's heart thunders in his chest; five months of accumulating practice rears its head over this decisive moment. A testament to genius as the violin introduces the song with a escalating cry. He won't make an utter fool of himself tonight—- Not today! Not in front of his daughter, colleagues, and students!

The routine begins with a sultry saunter as the two figures circle one another, their gazes locked. The concerto band starts as a mellow hum as the pairs approach in wordless challenge. Tension builds as they prowl, then the strings escalate. The pairs collide as the blonde woman twirls into Tsubaki's arm; he knows to guide her. His arm at her back, he keeps with the tempo. Anxiety melts into anticipation: he can do this.

"Your name?" Tsubaki asks once sharp movement nestle her briefly to his chest. He hopes the faint blush on his cheeks isn't too prominent: he has never danced in close proximity to another before.

It could be the flash of the lights or the stars in their eyes, but she had to laugh at the rise of heat on his cheeks, a flounce of skirts and an ambling gait away, disaffected until the moment of crescendo where there was nothing for it but to allow the motions of their breaths to come as one - 

And then the lights dropped, refocused, and the spell was broken.

When Lachesis laughed again, it was a gentler sound, warmer and less challenging.

The step back of her partner seemed in time with the strike of strings, not a swell, nothing so gentle, and the dance had begun.

“Is it so difficult?” 

There was as little self-doubt in her own voice as there had been in her partner’s - for all that she indicated the desire to be led, it was in so doing that she prompted their pace, a lead on its own. She had no need, nor desire, to be a domineer for control, not with this one - they had been like-minded enough in the crystal caves, and in their brief interactions outside of it, that when one stepped back the other prompted to step forward, adn vice versa, neither entirely encroaching the other’s space, nor ceeding.

“I have done waltzes all my life,” Lachesis said, fingers featherlight against Poe’s waistline, the fabric of her suit beneath her fingers to alert her to the slightest shift in her partner’s movements, her breath.

A smile, despite the fact that Poe could not hear it.

“I have been told that I’m quite difficult to lead. I suppose I would not know. Perhaps for our next dance, you could confirm this - a spin here, I believe.”

It was all the warning that she gave; that and the tilt of the wrist in her other hand, lifting overhead so that she could guide the other woman into a spiral before tugging her back into grip.