MAKING MY MUSCLES PROUD!

soliegis​:

            northwest on their map points them deeper into the plateau, where the cluster of homes and meager farmland disperses into flat, rocky uplands that seem fitting for the simple burial grounds of a village — he’d estimated that the area might be their site earlier, surveying the surrounding landscape for signs of disturbance, human or otherworldly. ( which he’d found — tracks and evidence that the land had been passed through, but several days old and not telling enough of anything more than that, which matched with local claims that the last sighting dated not yet a week ago. )

            turquoise lifts at the mention of zombies — what would have been a bedtime tale to frighten children not two years ago. the dessicated ashes of their reality still trail in the motes of his memory between disbelieving truth and fiction. and their origins… no, he wants nothing else to do with the shells of the living; nothing good ever came of them. ❝ if the dead are walking, then this village has more on its hands than some empty graves. things like that don’t happen without reason. ❞ the trusted spear strapped across his back is both a reminder and an assuring brace. ❝ but if it comes to it, i have some experience with them. ❞

            he doesn’t let that sit for long. ❝ if there are no other leads, then we’ll have to resort to vigils. let’s gather the others and make preparations near the gravesites. ❞ they had bothered the people here long enough.

                                                        ——   ☀   ——

            altitude and the sparsity of alpine air robs spring of its enlivening warmth, and he’s grateful that they hadn’t come earlier in the year, though even this is a temperate balm compared to the glacial cold of the sojourn into faerghus two months ago.

            the moon has risen high, an off-white, elegant sliver of a thing, by the midwatch hours when he stirs easily to the footfalls of the one who’d come to wake him. all around, nature has long since withdrawn into that dreamlike stretch of night, and it’s into its deep and apparitional hush that he rises, suppressing a yawn and rousing himself to vigilance. upon the small hill’s crest that overlooks their rustic cemetery sits that student’s burly outline once more, at the latter half of his watch that ephraim would now share.

            recollection takes a moment. he’s never been good with names. ❝ raphael, right? ❞ steps come to slow beside the other, eyes sweeping out and below across the pale-phantomed expanse of dark as though in bated breath for a glimpse of shambling corpses, flickering shapes disturbing the gloom. ( silhouette of a body, suspended on a hook— )

            he shakes his head. ❝ any movement? ❞

“THERE’S NOT BEEN A SINGLE thing out there—yet, anyways. But, yeah, Raphael. S’good to meet you.” Raphael only knows the other in passing, but remembers his name well enough he doesn’t ask to clarify again.

(If he forgets, he’ll ask. If he forgets, there’s probably something else going on that knocked it right out of his head, anyway. No one’s real mad if you forget their name ‘cause of a sudden zombie uprising at yonder graves, or something.

—Not that he’s, like, planning to forget anyone’s names.)

Standing watch has never particularly bothered Raphael much, even if it’s an idle sort of job. Trying on the length of his focus, too. Not so much easily distractible as much as he tends to grows wary when left staring at nothing for time on end. 

New scenery either has the ability to make it go down smoother—for the benefit of getting to fix sights on something fresh, interesting to take in for the first time—or make it worse, left at unease for the unfamiliar landscape. The plateau manages to occupy some mid-ground between both of those. 

Like every other uninspiring flat of land in Fódlan but somehow it’s coloured distinctly wrong by all the going’s ons. Possibility stands that, if they weren’t here to watch out for grave-robbing-zombie(?)-crooks, Raphael’d like the moonlit expanse a heck of a lot more.

As is... “I kinda figured that something’d’ve have to happen by now, but it’s real still out there. Might be a long night’a vigil, sir.”

Cords in his neck, muscle down to his shoulder blades, tense. He could blame it on the air, which still feels cooler than he might like. Not so bad, having just emerged out of winter—anything warmer than the mountains chill can almost be balmy, now. Likely more to do with wandering thoughts, and—

“—Hey, did’ja mean that? Earlier, I mean. What you said about havin’ dealt with zombies before.” That’s something Raphael doesn’t really know what to make of. An unshakeable sort of thing to just say, and Ephraim hadn’t lingered on it, and with other things to see to, Raphael had put it out of mind until he was left staring at a humble collection of headstones. 

A Fairly Good Time

After the mission last month (timeline shenanigans not withstanding) Ignatz needed some time off. All the emotions he had to process tired him out, and sometimes he had to explain it to someone who stayed behind so he could remind himself “yes this happened, what the fuck,”

Thankfully Ignatz’s best friend didn’t go on the mission, leaving Ignatz to explain his emotions to someone who had no idea about what happened.

“Goddess, I’m so glad you stayed behind,” Ignatz finished his venting to Raphael. The two had decided to go to the carnival to help the two alleviate stress before classes started. They were walking side by side, exploring the many stalls that were lined the path. “Wait,” a sudden realization hit Ignatz, “I’ve just been talking about my problems without letting you speak. What a friend I am,” he sighed as he lowered his head.

“How could I make it up to you?” Ignatz muttered to himself before being drawn in by the smells coming from a nearby food stand. “That aroma… it’s drawing me in. How about I buy us some food? It’s the least I can do,”

@leicestersbeast

THE MONTH BEHIND THE ACADEMY’S sure an exciting one. Raphael’s not sure if he’s sorry he missed out on all the opportunity—good training, he figures, the sort of stuff that went on—or if he’s a little relieved, however selfishly. The latter is a feeling much more fleeting. Hard to be happy to be out of the action when everyone’s got a lot on their shoulders after the fact.

A silver-lining: Ignatz talks freely, seems happy for an ear yet unexposed to the month behind him. Way easier to sort through stuff when someone wasn’t there, sometimes. Get all the thoughts out by explaining it in full, then find a way to stack it all back together, into something that makes sense. 

(Or nearly makes sense, anyway. Raphael’s still not sure he quite knows what happened last month, all in all.)

“Ya don’t have to make anything up to me just for talking! Listening’s the easy part, you know,” Raphael says, sincere, “And someone’s gotta catch me up on everything, I feel roads behind now!”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐁.

          evening climbs slowly in the thin heights of the rugged west, where sleepy mists and the last of winter cling to distant rounded highland peaks brushed dark with swaths of spine-like conifers. after the day’s long march from their settlement further down the valley, weariness has begun to seep among their number, hindered further by the arrival of spring’s soporific warmth. yet night was precisely when they couldn’t afford to rest.

          brionac plateau marked their position upon the map unrolled between his hands, and within it the pinpoint of a nondescript upland village some distance from the nearest major territory. it’s no wonder it’d taken so long for their distress calls to be answered; apparently, they’d been sending missives to their region’s governor for many weeks since the first of the disturbed gravesites had been discovered. he knows well the hierarchy of a regent’s task list, and mere rumors of troubling shapes and spirits in the night are difficult to muster the manpower to attend. but perpetrators, whether human or otherwise, would be put to rest soon now, with any luck. selfishly, he hopes it turns up more interesting than a petty crime, or a protracted prank. it seems like a waste to have come all the way out here for little more than exercise.

          among those he’d been sent with stood one tall, brawny young man more than twice some of the others’ size, who’d seemed to outgrow the academy’s student uniform and for whom he’d developed a liking despite never speaking. not once since their departure has he heard a complaint out of him, nor seen him rest before everyone else. it’s he who approaches now up the crest of the incline, descent of sunset casting his broad shadow across the tawny grasses, to which ephraim greets with a nod. ❝ what did the villagers have to say? ❞

          the pattern of incidences had been scattered and by appearances random, with the locals further scrambling their stories out of human fear for the murky figures they had claimed to see. he had hoped that careful subsequent questioning would unearth more information around which they could plan their approach, or at least build some expectation of what they might encounter. it was all well and good to wait until nightfall and stride up to the gravesites to keep vigil over the interred, but given the morale and momentum of their group, he’d thought it best to attempt a more strategic plan before resorting to their most straightforward option, yes, if not their most unenviable.

        ☀   //    @leicestersbeast​

GHOSTS AND GHOULS DON’T BOTHER Raphael all that much. In theory. He’s never had to test the theory, but figures if he has to here, now—over this—that’s not such a bad reason to confront the is or is nots of the ether.

The story’s real unnerving, to be sure. Graves turning up empty when they’re not supposed to be’s never gonna bode well for anyone, most of all the families and villagers that preside over those resting places. Raphael never minds gathering information. Talking to folks is easy, setting them to ease is part of the task, nestled in. This time, it feels him with a creeping discomfort. Wordless understanding is shared between villager and student is a startling familiarity with how important these sites are, how much of an ache it sets forth in those who have lost loved ones to see them disturbed. 

(—In the countryside of Leicester, there’s two humbly marked places that Raphael knows well from tending, visiting. Needless to say, it strikes a chord to listen to the villagers while gathering information to get their wits about them on what’s to be done.

The walk back up doesn’t do much in terms of helping Raphael sort through the information, sifting for the most important.)

“Said it mostly seems like the trouble’s coming from the northwest’a here,” Raphael supplies, a start. “Honestly, no one seemed like they had much more to say about anything other than what we know already—graves being bothered.”

A beat, gloved hand rubbing slow at the back of Raphael’s neck, nodding to himself. Any other time he might be inclined to enjoy the scenery. The plateau’s nice, far as places they get sent to goes. Task at hand sours it, though. Boots scuff against the ground as Raphael stands just downhill from Ephraim—why’d anyone go digging through the earth looking for trouble?

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷: Passed [ 𝙷𝙸𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂! ] 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷: Missed the mark! [ 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶! ] 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 / 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝙰𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍: 8 ⇢ 8! [ 𝙽𝙾 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴! ]

❝ Turns out if you go off and train hard in the mountains, it’s real difficult to keep track of the time... and days! And, you’re bound to be way too sore to do any of your school-y stuff when you get back!!             ...Still gotta catch up and do it, though.                                               Just... trust me on that one. ❞

“𝚆𝚎'𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎-𝚊𝚗𝚍-𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚜, 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚘𝚘!” | 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜.

DURING CHILDHOOD, Raphael had exposure to a bit of 'both' worlds—the excitement of exploring the bustling centre of Derdriu's mercantile boroughs and a little rubbernecking at some fancy estates.

His parents maintained a humble but stable merchant business. While their base of operations was situated in the heart of Derdriu, their company had dealings throughout the Leicester Alliance on small, steady contracts that often saw them travelling throughout the Alliance. Their family home was located in Derdriu, above their shop; as such, Raphael spent much of his youth set loose upon the mercantile boroughs of Derdriu.

[ no tws; under a read more for length! ]

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚊 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜.” | 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜.

LONG STORY SHORT, Raphael doesn’t really handle depression so much as he subjugates it entirely. Prone to looking for distractions from anything that’s upsetting him too deeply, a clear preference is maintained for doing anything and everything that’s uplifting, all-consuming, or physically exhausting to distract the mind—bonus points if it’s all three.

That said: day to day typical sadness isn’t subject to the inklings of toxic positivity and hustle-to-distraction coping that have a hold on Raphael. If he’s feeling sad or upset about something that's smaller or fixable, he’ll try to honour the feeling of sadness or discomfort before taking steps to resolve and improve the circumstance. Crying is also a good release sometimes, and he hardly shies away from it for any multitude of emotions or circumstances.

TLDR; Fixable things aren’t worth wallowing over, and unfixable things need only be laid to rest, so that one may keep pushing ever onward and upward to security, safety, and ensured survival.

[read more tw: mention of familial death, depressive moods.]

“𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚜 … 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎!” | 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜.

GENERALLY SPEAKING, Raphael is a believer who is not all that interested in the supernatural or cosmic forces.

Raised in a household that was only loosely (read: culturally) religiously observant, his perspective and practice of the Teachings of Seiros are really that of a working-class commoner. Raphael has a healthy respect of the Goddess and her many blessings to the land, but it’s ultimately tempered with a healthy ‘kind of busy working to survive for all that pomp and circumstance of deep deep deeeeeep devotion, but it seems lovely!’ relationship with the cosmically divine accepted throughout Fódlan. 

(Religious indulgence is something of a privilege of time, energy, and access. He would identify himself as a believer if asked, but keeps his personal practice and relationship with the cosmically divine casual, relegating his belief to something contained more to tacit acts, thoughts, and daily ritual.)

Often, Raphael doesn't place weight in superstition and has only a casual concern for matters of individuals being inclined toward good and bad luck. He sees that as being in flux, rather than fixed, and often is more inclined to trace it to actions and behaviour rather than anything nebulous, divine, or other abstract cosmic forces. To be lucky or unlucky is more just a turn of phrase, for Raphael, rather than a state of permanence.

Still, he doesn’t place a lot of stock in cosmic forces as shaping the life course into something fixed and unwavering, a predestined story ahead of each individual. If there is an ultimate cosmic plan of the Goddess, he’s not so sure the one he has been given is a nice one—and so, it’s more comforting, ultimately, to imagine that the Goddess kindly allows for change and control of ones circumstance to remain in the hands of the living.

It’s also difficult not to believe in magic and cosmic forces much greater than humans alone, considering how insular Fódlan is in its beliefs, and further still the presence of mythical beings, miraculous occurrences, and monstrous beasts roaming about. As such, Raphael doesn’t decry or reject anything outright, and he tries to keep an open mind. 

𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷: Passed [ 𝙾𝙽 𝙷𝙸𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂! ]

𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝙰𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍: 7 ⇢ 8!

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚅𝚈 𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚁: E+

There’s just a piece of paper stuck to Raphael’s dorm-room door, attached by way of a large fork. On the page there are random ink blots, as though someone pressed too hard into the parchment with their pen. Amidst them, it reads, ❝ I heard the mountains are real good for endurance training!                                   So, that’s where I’ll be if you wanna come join me.     ...At least, ‘til I run outta big enough boulders! ❞

𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷: Passed!

𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝙰𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍: 6 ⇢ 7!

𝙶𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜: C+ ⇢ C+! [𝙽𝙾 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴.]

❝ So... Many... Hoorse-do-o’vres... So... Many... Snacks... 

                                            P h e w ! I’m beat! ❞

ignatzlandscape​:

Ignatz couldn’t help but laugh, of course Raphael would want to build the biggest snowman. “Alright, I’ll try my hardest!” 

Ignatz stepped back to look at the base that Raphael had started. It was already the right size for a normal snowman, but they weren’t making a normal snowman, they were making a strong snowman. 

“Well, normally I would say this looks like a good base,” Ignatz started, before looking up at his friend, “but this is a Raphael snowman so it needs to be a lot bigger in order to support the weight.” Ignatz normally would try and temper Raphael’s expectations, but even he wanted to see how big this snowman would get.

“How about you get that as big as you possibly can, and I’ll start making smaller snowballs for when the base is finished?” Ignatz suggested, and soon the two were hard at work.

Taking a short break, Ignatz had realized that he never asked how big Raphael wanted the snowman to be. “So how tall should this snowman be?”

“Hmm... S’gotta be waaaay bigger than me by the time we’re finished up, at least, ‘cause it’s no fun if it’s just the same size as a normal person!” There’s added range with the two of them working on it, too! Ignatz’s plan saves a ton of time already as Raphael continues working on the base, other components underway already.

He continues, “I figure that the base should be able as big as I can manage to keep rollin’ around and adding snow to! So, I’ll just keep on going ‘til I can’t give it anything else!”

Maybe a bold declaration, though Raphael’s already made the base fairly sizeable. Nothing’s ever gained backing down from a playful challenge like this, anyhow—and even Ignatz seems prepared to make the snowman-strongman of the ages.

A flat, inscrutable stare is the reply. The stick of smoked bacon held between fingers is raised squarely to point at Raphael. “You’d get sick.” Ike takes a bite out of the bacon, chewing.

“…But you don’t seem like the type to be worried about that.” Pausing to place a finger on his chin, Ike ruminates. There are stories of those of Zihark’s training (Perhaps Hana’s?) that a trained warrior must sustain themselves under great pressure to temper their mind, and that may be given by the rushing downpour of water. Is this the same? Well, there’s only one way to find out. Getting up, Ike dusts off his fingers, setting down the satchel of rations to his side. “Well, why not? Let’s get going, big guy.”

If Raphael’s gonna be honest, thought of any ice-dunk-conditioning goes out of mind momentarily when pointed at with food. Maybe it’s ‘cause it’s cold up here and the body naturally wants to stock up, but Raphael swears he’s gotten even hungrier than usual while hanging out at the lodge. Could be all the running around in the snow, too, but...

“Alright! I figure if we muscle through it, we won’t have to worry about getting sick afterwards or anything anyway!” The quick agreement is enough, for now, to snap Raphael back into the previous train of thought.

Besides, surely the lake would be better blocked off if you really, super weren’t supposed to be using it for anything. This is an important test of strength, body and mind, anyway.

That’s what Raphael’s reminding himself, anyway, when Lake Navar’s actually in view. Somehow it manages to even look colder than the rest of the lodge’s surroundings. Steeled nerves, though—worth it, for it’s actually true that it helps!

“In what realm, here or otherwise, do you believe there exists even the remote chance of me being able to “yank you back up” should you fall?”

Though her tone is flat, her expression is downturned as Mitama remains determinedly immobile on the ice. Her arms are spread wide, as though that will give her any chance of improving her balance as she glares daggers at her wobbling, shaking feet below her.

How she ended up on the ice in any form is beyond her. How she was expected to assist someone with the ice was laughable.

“When I die I want a simple funeral.” She mumbled, glaring off at the distance. The bank was so far away now… “No fanfare, no great preaching…ideally I would be cast off in a pyre and removed entirely from this…I am a good person who deserves a good life in whatever comes after this, not-”

Her ankle abruptly leaned to the side. Mitama squeaked and flailed, but managed to remain upright. “I hate this!”

“Whoa, c’mon now, don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself with the whole funeral planning!?”

Granted, the more she wobbles around, the more Raphael kinda gets the concern. He’s not feeling all the steady himself, though ankles and knees have managed to stay where they’ve gotta to keep upright.

A careful maneuver to inch a bit closer on his own skates, then a sturdy hand around her upper arm to keep her from failing any more, lest that be the downfall rather than actually trying to move. Better to not get disheartened before making any real progress, here.

“Don’t worry about pickin’ me back up, if it’s gonna stress you out. I’ll probably be good to go once I get a feel for it again! But this is supposed to be fun! I bet once you get the hang of it and move around a little, you’ll like it even! You just get to glide around and look at stuff!” Which is the goal; the scenery around them is pretty, and Raphael’s confident they can both get over the wobbly uncertainty of a how-to. 

Ignatz panicked when he heard Raphael call his name. Even though they have been friends since they were kids, Raphael’s enthusiasm never stopped surprising him. The two were complete opposites.

After calming down, Ignatz jogged over to where Raphael was, who was already starting to form the base of the snowman. “Yeah, that would be fun!” Ignatz smiled. Besides, their snowman wouldn’t be any worse looking than the other snowman that had already been built.

“Alright! This’ll look great with the two of us workin’ at it—we can make him real huge! A snowman like no one’s ever seen!”

The snow’s perfect for packing and sculpting out of so they can get real creative with it! While Raphael’s eye for aesthetics has never been as refined or carefully trained (try as he may have, once upon a time) Ignatz will be able to pick up that slack.

Raphael takes a step back to look at the base he’s started, dusting the snow off of his gloves. “You can be the creative director, and I’ll do all the grunt work of packing the snow down so it’s real sturdy, yeah? It’ll come together in no time!”

He can see it already: a snowman that towers over even him, and twice as strong. They’ll make it so tall that Raphael’s gotta stand on his tip toes to bestow the finishing touches—that Ignatz has to stand up on his shoulders to, even! A real testament to the snow’s raw power! A symbol of winter’s strength!