Gotta think bright thoughts.

Now that he thought about it, he actually had no idea what Askr ate. They did offer food up to him sometimes, but was it actually of any meaning to their god? Alfonse had to imagine that a man of his size ate a considerable amount (to say nothing of his bovine form), but did he have the liberty of eating just anything? For all the things Alfonse had been taught about Askr in his youth, for all the time he had spent in the presence of both Askr and Ash, Alfonse hardly knew the first thing about Askr as a person. Quite shameful, given the friendly nature of the God of Openness. Surely he would have been happy to discuss it.

"Charms," Alfonse blurted out as he wrestled his thoughts back to the present. He'd been staring off into space as his mind wandered onto that little tangent and he knew it. It probably seemed for all the world like he hadn't been listening with the vacant expression he had no doubt been wearing. It was hardly Fogado's fault. Alfonse often found his mind wandering, especially following some kind of social blunder.

everyone says something silly every once in a while. if fogado judged people for that kind of thing, then brother, he'd be the first in line! " we talked it out and everything. if that's what you're referring to, anyways; i didn't really think you were being strange. " he takes alfonse's hands in his own, patting the outsides. " i think you might've worked yourself up a bit too hard.

"Two of them? How do they do it so quickly?"

She wasn't quite sure who the 'they' she was referring to were -- she hadn't quite deciphered how this contraption worked.

Nonetheless, there was little time to spare; one hand tugged her cat ears off whilst the other slid the devil horns into place. She had just enough time to see her reflection in the little mirror-like window -- and confirm that she looked adorably evil -- before she needed to commit to a pose. Ahhh...! There was no time to think. At the last second, she went with how she was truly feeling: shock. Her mouth opened in a little o-shape, her eyebrows raised, and her hands came up to her cheeks.

Another flash had her blinking once more.

"Right, that was..."

Wait, another countdown?

"Does it go on forever?!" she exclaimed as she leaned over Fogado's lap to dig in the props box for their next ensemble.

Score! Two wide-brimmed hats trimmed in fur... and they were pink!

She wasted no time in jamming both onto their heads, devil horns be damned. Then, with one hand, she tipped the brim forward, winking, whilst with the other, she used her thumb and forefinger to push Fogado's cheeks up into a smile.

as soon as the flash goes off for their devilish little picture, fogado doesn't get a moment to think before he gets a big furry pink thing slapped on his head. huh? what the heck is this? it's got a big brim, fuzz on the edge... this is definitely a hat, right?

but the thing doesn't sit totally right on his head---the devil horns he was wearing are still there. " hilda, wait, the h--- " he starts to warn, but his mouth is caught between nicely-manicured fingers and forced into a biiiiig toothy smile. " ---hhrt dshn't frt mrr--- "

flash!

oh, well. he'll still look handsome.

a new countdown starts, causing fogado's brow to furrow. " okay, okay, woah, they gotta tell us how long we're needing to do this for, " he snorts as though he wasn't one part of a big lie to get people to totally clear out of the joint. what's he got to complain about? " hang on. i'm gonna go ask. "

fogado shuffles around, ready to depart from the booth, but his foot catches on the hat he's just removed. the furry trim has to be made of bear or something, because it's too heavy to just kick out of the way. " woah---! oh, shoot, falling, i'm falling---! "

"Ah!"

The arrow sheared through the air, and settled itself cleanly through the bird's throat – from this distance, such a fantastic shot was surely a gift from Mother Earth herself, and Lyn could not help but shoot a fist in the air in celebration before rising from her crouch to collect her quarry.

It had been difficult for the first few miles – so many of them traveled in huge, skittish flocks, which of course was the smarter choice, to have one or more on lookout while the others foraged for seeds and berries before moving onto the next field, or scattering in the air entirely. Her belt hung with only four other catches, but with this one she felt confident enough to collect and begin making the trek home for a warm bath and a meal.

The leaves crunched underfoot as she stooped, plucked the bird from its leafy grave and brushed some of the forest detritus from its body before wrapping a section of cloth around the still-protruding arrow, attaching the catch to her belt alongside the others. If the others that had been sent to hunt were similarly laden, then perhaps there would be a decent amount to smoke, dry, and fill the larder with for the coming winter – the mountains and plains were a different beast where that was concerned, but she had seen what food scarcity looked like.

Raising her arms overhead for a quick stretch before she began her journey back, Lyn felt the tight muscles in her shoulders loosen, the heat of using them after not doing so for a long period of time letting her know that she would be in for a delightful soreness the next few mornings – and before they could make their way down, her arms froze as her eyes caught on the shape of something moving in the brush, and an...odd clucking sound...

Cautiously, quietly, she reached for one more arrow, nocking it into place as she crept forward on gentle steps to avoid stirring the underbrush. The tip of the arrow pressed forward, body of the bow brushing a branch out of the way of her sights as she drew back and -

"What – what are you - ?"

fogado isn't totally sure what he's looking at. there's something birdlike about the creature he's found just now---it clucks once, twice, inquisitive in that kind of way that birds are about seemingly everything on the planet. another bird-ish quality is that, well, it definitely has to be a bird, right, because there's nothing else it could be, i mean look at it, it's like if you took two birds and taped them together and got some weird turkey-goose out of it. if it looks like a bird and clucks like a bird...

there are a lot of things he doesn't really understand about whatever this thing is, but there is one truth he can confirm for certain:

it's shoooooooooooooo cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!

no freaking way can he hunt this thing! when he'd come down into the woods with bow in hand, he was definitely expecting to go after something of the four-legged variety---a rabbit, maybe a deer, honestly, he'd take what he got---but nothing like this! it's so round! so fluffy! so... turkoose?!?!

fogado's got to figure this thing out. in order to do so, he's gotta speak its language, so he bends his knees, sticks his elbows out, and makes some odd strangled cluck-screech that sends squirrels bolting and sparrows flying for the hills.

the turkoose appears confounded.

fogado looks to the side, hearing a bush rustling, and now he, too, looks confounded.

In a world of icons, there are people with human problems too.

Leif notices the tone of Fogado's voice being not quite the same as he once remembered it. Less energetic perhaps, especially compared to the man who had been doing hit utmost to take even the most vile of confections at his birthday party just a couple moons ago.

Perhaps something had happened then.

“ Me too. I moved a lot when I was younger. I never could be in one place for very long, ”  Leif admits to Fogado as he joins the man, leaning over the side of the boat to take in the sea salt in the air. The gentle wind tousles his hair in a refreshing way.  “ But the place I had the happiest memories of was by the sea just like this. I like going to the sea to remind me of it then. ”

He turns to Fogado, unsure what to do. Yet still, he tries.

“ I don't know if something's bothering you, but if you need to pretend I'm the other Leif to get something off your chest, I don't mind, ”  he offers. Whilst he will never be Emblem Leif, he gets the impression the man not only was important but a friend of some sort to many.

He wonders what that must have been like.

“ I won't pry or tell anything if you don't want me to though. I just notice... even when doing something unpleasant back during your birthday, you were more upbeat than this, weren't you? ”

he attempts to put distance between himself and the big question by focusing on other parts of what leif has said to him. " so you can relate, eh? " he says, arms folded loosely over the ship's railing. " you and i, always moving... y'know, one of my friends is from a port town. i used to go there a lot when i visited him---so sometimes i think of him when i'm by the ocean. "

it's very tiring to always live tactically. he'd come out to the ball to have a shot at cutting loose, but he had to go and make a fool of himself all the while! now he's a sea snail in the hands of the curious: trapped between thumb and forefinger while he desperately tries to pack back into his shell. the worst part is that no matter what he does, leif is suspicious. there's only so much one can do against that.

redirection is a coin flip, but it's what he's got. " just tired is all. it is late... anyways, more on the whole moving thing! " fogado turns over so that his back hits against the railing, arms casually slung against it. " never staying in one place... it's tough for some and easy for others. i'll let'cha guess how i feel about it, but! did you enjoy it? or did you hate not having a solid place to roost? "

"Hm? Oh, please, who hasn't? You think that's an impressive haul, you should know that I have an upcoming deal--"

Corruption within the aristocracy was nothing new -- Zofia at its fall before the unification was a shining example of this -- but it was still unusual to Lukas for people to be so blatant about it out in the open. It hardly seemed to matter where you went, you could likely overhear something incriminating. Even with there being less people around in the off-season, it was clear that this confidence in discussing their embezzling had been cultivated regardless of who may be around to hear it.

Seeing as information gathering was their current focus, Lukas had been listening in on quite a few of these conversations. It was a slow and somewhat dull process, if he were to be honest.

While acting was hardly a well-defined skill of his, it didn’t take all that much to simply act like an out of town tourist. Wandering around in more public places was expected -- even if you still garnered some attention for a lack of…whatever sort of decorum or appearance these particular nobles prefered — and lingering wasn’t odd in certain spots. Shops, cafes, restaurants. All good places to take some time and keep an ear out for those coming and going.

This was how he’d overheard the rumors about particularly bred guard dogs.

Lukas was familiar with hunting dogs, but not so much with dogs used for protection. The closest would be the livestock guardian dogs that were used in and around the lands his father held, which he had kept his distance from even more so than his father’s hounds. They were large, even at a distance, and he knew they were built to fend off predatory threats on their own if they had to.

It wasn’t odd that here, too, the nobility might keep dogs for hunting or as simple pets. But that wasn’t what these dogs were for. These dogs were bred to be large, powerful and enduring. Not to guard livestock, but often the transport of ill-gotten funds or illicit items. Hiring human guards was all well and good, but humans were more easily distracted, flawed or interested in what they themselves might pocket from a situation like this.

These dogs did not have such risks, and clearly, they had a spotless track record if no one had addressed the rampant thievery going on here.

Lukas glanced away from the trinkets he’d been pretending to deliberate over as gifts when a somewhat familiar face passed by in his periphery. Seemed he wasn’t the only one sniffing around.

“Ah, perhaps you can help me decide, my friend,” Lukas called out to Fogado, forgoing any names for the moment — if he was listening, he doubted he was the only one doing so, as vapidly sure of themselves as these people seemed to be — and gesturing to the display case of ocean themed jewelry pieces. “You’ve a more keen eye for these things than I do, as I recall.”

Perhaps a little exchange in information was in order.

the neat sorting of factoids into to-dos is all that fogado has done today. the majority of the names he hears belong to people he’s never met, but he has at least had the ability to learn them for a later day’s research. it’s astounding to him that so much foulness can be so easily discussed out in the open, but anything can happen in a place with no justice to be found. he sighs. arbiter of what is right though he is, there is only so much a single boy can do before he is caught and culled.

and so, he listens.

because it is the most he can do, and it is what he excels in. he’ll duck off to a quiet corner somewhere and write down all he knows, and he will dangle those diamonds along until he has the perfect place to put them. such are the things he’s learned from this years-long profession of his.

fogado’s ear twitches as he continues walking along the shopping street. “ have you heard of those new dogs that they’re showing lately? ” crows the amused voice of a noblewoman. “ perfect guard-dogs, they say. they had one go after a trainer’s arm-guard and nearly took the man’s limb off. ”

“ really! ” gasps a shorter, more excitable woman. “ just one dog? my lucy hardly ever has the drive to even visit the same room as a stranger! perhaps i ought to redirect my investments. ”

“ yes, quite so… but they aren’t quite meant for petkeeping, so i hear. ”

“ if not that, then what for? ”

guard dogs. fogado doesn’t need to listen for anything more because he has already experienced those bastard creatures for himself. memories of reconnaisance-gone-wrong still itch in his mind, but at least he can have an edge on a discussion that he has no part in. he turns his head somewhat to the left, aiming his ear towards them to listen for more…

…when a spooked horse runs by, scaring the wits out of the pair. fogado has to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as the women run off, huffing and puffing about ‘untrained beasts’ or something to that effect. oh, well.

in defeat does he turn his head, but it isn’t long before fogado’s spirits kick back upwards; a familiar face is reflected in the glass of the storefront, and the prince smiles as lukas comes into view.

“ oh! you lookin’ for jewelry recommendations? ” he chirps, needing to work energy back into his voice after the bouts of pure silence until now. “ well, i s’pose that depends on what you’re looking for. anything in particular on your mind? ”

They had to apologize. Frankly, they were way less likely to lose their "jobs" if they do so well enough but what god given task that was.

and he doesn't want to make it obvious that he's messed up. acknowledging mistakes are easy when they're just silly things, but there's no way he's getting off without at least being yelled at. urgh! just the thought makes him antsy to leave.

Those wounds of another making remained, unseen sores chafing against reality with the same claim to origination. All of this was his doing. Eyes flared with a glittering varnish of fury, deep-seated flames climbing higher and burning hotter. Not once did they veer from the party Rafal deemed responsible, spinning his words as recklessly as his otherworldly counterpart had, so similar and yet so different. At a distance, a familiar, laughing picture they two must have even made; the furious master once more led in circles by his much too impudent servant.

"Shut up!" A gulp of acrid potion, a scalding splash in the face, all bore equivalence in extremity to the slew of accusations but Rafal did not flinch. The first betrayal one of Fogado's brazen rejection and denial of their experiences, a second would not occur in his own disclosures. Fogado would see his anger, he would never see his hurts, even as they leaked from every syllable, every pointed, jagged accusation of his own.

"You are free to think what you want. To do however you so please. That is precisely what you have been doing this entire time, with all liberties and without remorse. Spinning such an amicable web between us, tearing it down at all fickle convenience—who am I to stop you?"

Flashing silver aimed for white. A sharp blur of motion by both and Rafal dodged the shears on a slim margin with emotion clouding the mind. Pale strands of hair danced through the air like fallen petals, floated to the floor like dandelion down. He snarled with affront at the clear attempt on his life, maddened into pursuit on thundering footsteps. The gall!

familiarity twists, framing fogado's heart that sits halfway between ribcage and throat; he knew that rafal still had that foulness inside of him, but that never made it any less terrifying to face head-on. the dragon seems to react to malice, so fogado slings it tactically---stones to bring down this giant, hopefully, should they land between the eyes. it's a foolish thought, but one that gives him enough hope to keep going.

he opens his mouth to speak but chokes when he sees the flat side of a table hurtling towards him. various objects accompany the thing in its trajectory: potted plants, clumped crumbs of dirt, and, joy, sharp gardening tools open and certainly not maintaining any position that is Safe, Inviting, or Friendly. though rafal's draconic howling indicates that something is going to happen, fogado can only manage to dodge the table; a pot hits his chest and the talons of gardening shears rip shallow across his left arm. tsk. fogado ducks somewhere new.

" you really are unforgivable, " the prince snarls now, letting all his faces clatter to the floor. hatred that drips, viscous, bears itself proudly across him from furrowed brow to wrinkled nose to stars threatening to burst and further along---there is not a single part of him that does not point violence towards rafal, the aggressor. rafal, the selfish.

rafal, who has blinded everyone but fogado to the eternal truth: he cannot ever be trusted. never again.

" you let a human walk all over you, huh? " fogado springs from his new spot to a shelf lined with glass objects. he wastes no time in smashing the necks off of beakers and the heads off of thermometers before not merely tossing but hurling, with enough force to crack his shoulder, at whatever looks like rafal. " you're so mad it makes you look stupid. sorry that i'm not so willing to live and let die, brother---and sorry that i'm not a drooling suckup like the last guy that looked like me! "

the mere thought of that mirror makes him want to vomit. how can rafal look him in the eyes and not feel shame? guilt? for bastardizing his very character and expecting the next one to forgive him?

Evidently they'd yet to clean this spot yet as dust fills his senses and he wrinkles his nose to make sure he doesn't give them away.

"Is this task really boring enough that you feel the need to ride across tables?" It was boring, most of the cleaning was but they weren't here to have fun necessarily.

A door clicks open and boots make hardwood creak underfoot as someone made their way in to investigate.

If he thought fast enough he could make up some excuse in perhaps an hour or two. Currently?"

heavens. don't tell him this guy likes to clean. that's just crazy talk---especially when the subject of cleaning is some rich guy's house. every artifact and piece of art is a landmine; mess up once, sneeze in the wrong direction and BOOM! you owe five skibidillion gold to some old dude.

plus, sliding across a big empty table was fun! until the crashing-into-a-wall part. but that was still also fun. just not the dent. that's not fun. it's bad.

he freezes up when he hears the sound of a door open and following footsteps; he's got three escape plans newly formed and a fourth on the way. shoot! they know his face and his occupation---if they see the hole, it's definitely gonna be pinned on him!

It made sense, in the end. Fogado was a noble guy from somewhere else entirely, disconnected from everything related to Fódlan- Sylvain’s image wasn’t a piece atop his chess board, but rather just mid-game banter to fill in silence. But what could be a comforting and reassuring thought instead only invited more and more uncertainty, as even though Fogado’s promises of being genuine could be passed as lies through his teeth soaked in sugar water.

It was an impossibly infuriating loop, to always register foreign kindness as traps dressed in pretty lies- but it’s the trap he had made into a nest for himself littered with thorns. The same way he always expected Fogado’s attempts to reach out as lies, the world didn’t believe in Sylvain’s capability to truly care or be kind- instead brushing it off as cheap flirting. Most of the time he didn’t care, but every now and then something would pinch at his skin, the pain stinging.

you're kinda like me---carrying stuff around that nobody else sees.

Sylvain knew that. He could tell from the way Fogado talked and carried himself, from the glint in his eyes- the way those stars always seemed to glow with something else behind them. The ginger knew almost nothing about the guy, barely even knew him as a person, but by now it was easy to spot those playing the same game, dancing the same melody. It could be a lie, a fabricated image to force him to lower his guard.

Or it could be the truth, and he’d find himself with a friend similar to Hilda. Someone who knows what he goes through, who he doesn’t have to lie to because they can just get it and act on it without winded explanations and conversations he didn’t want to carry verbally. This was a gamble.

A gentle scoff. “You barely know me, and yet you say you like me and all…it’s not the most convincing act, you know.”

Sylvain warily eyed Fogado, golden pools scrutinizing him not too different from two foxes meeting in the wild and checking to see whoever makes the first movement of aggression. Any and whatever signs that could indicate a hidden dagger.

“You may not get any benefit from it, but other people will. A lot of people dislike me, and a lot of people would love to see me getting dragged through rocks.” A pause. “Dorothea’s a close friend of yours. If she told you that I had wronged her badly and asked you to ruin my image in revenge, would you do it for her sake? If any of your other close friends asked you to do something against me because I had wronged them, would you do it?”

I know I would.

“I’m not afraid of whatever gains you could get from damaging my reputation. It’s your loyalty for your friends that could put me through hell.”

he folds his feet together and jumps up on his seat, crouching while laying his head on his knees. still observing, still curious. " i mean, seriously. does everyone have to hand in a worksheet explaining why they like you? " his voice carries no malice, but it does come tipped with a knowing confusion. he knows why sylvain has to be like this. it's not an unfamiliar game. " there're a lot of things people decide on as spur-of-the-moment. why can't my feelings be one of 'em? "

admittedly, fogado is being a little mean-spirited when he asks these questions. he doesn't have to do things this way because he already knows the answers; all this serves as is confirmation, really. he doesn't expect to change any minds nor become privy to deep dark secrets, but it's the first time he's ever met such harsh resistance to friendship. it's the first time he's ever collided with someone that reminded him of himself.

" but let's get one thing straight: i don't do things like what you think thea would ask me to do. i'm no character assassin, and i definitely ain't a contract kind'a guy. ya feel?

" my goal in life is to make as many people happy as possible. to make as many friends as possible. if i just went around hurting folks because i was asked to, that wouldn't help me much, now would it? " his feet tap against the seat idly as his body rocks. side to side, then back to front, then in some odd diagonal motion. not predictable by any means. " sure, i like to do things for my friends---but i have boundaries, too. you can choose to believe me or not, but from my mouth i'll say that i don't really do other people's grudges. "

the eyes of cupid are always watching. he will only allow one person to make those kinds of decisions: himself. always.

and now the stars in his eyes dim for but a moment, hidden behind long lashes but still peeking out in their little places. it's a cold desert night, this gaze, calculating but intentionally so. the way he looks at sylvain now is shields-down for a lightningstrike's second; if this isn't enough for him then so be it.

Twisting around to find some footing, a tacky blob of pink nearly rammed into him. "Watch where you're going, brat!" Forced to take a look at the punk who nearly rammed into him, Miklan managed to swallow down the question he nearly blurted out.

What the hell are you wearing?

Dressed in the most blinding shade pink Miklan had the misfortune of laying his eyes on, the brat's face was caked up in jester's makeup—complimented by an irritating corset of golden sparkles, the noble (if Miklan had to assume: what sensible person would wear this?) had a bird draped around his waist.

Miklan gritted out a response. "Thanks." Lonato would've demanded that the brigand should've given a compliment back—but if the brat was smart, he would understand that Miklan's curtness was the kindest words he'll get from the man.

That should've been the end of the conversation. Miklan should've been able walk away from this tacky punk, the brat would've fucked off to only Seiros knows where, and they'll never see each other again.

Clearly, Miklan overestimated him.

Lonato wasn't here and to hell with whatever chivalry the old hermit preached—striding away from the brat without a response nor a destination in mind, Miklan mumbled curses beneath his breath, this was going to be a long night.

oh, shoot, but wait. fogado should pay a little attention, because now the suit-of-armor-man is leaving. sure, it wasn't a great first impression, but he didn't think it went that poorly!!

" hey, hey, hey, wait up! " he calls from behind, quickly closing the gap between them. sorry, man, but you're not getting away THAT easily. " c'moooooooon, you're tellin' me you don't even wanna get a little into the groove? when you're at a ball?! " his incredulous words are married with gesticulations of equal disbelief, swinging hands moving from shoulders outward then up and then Very Much Down. " that's crazy talk! you've gotta try it at least once. seriously! just a little shimmy-shake of the pauldrons at least! "

from overhead, he spots three thickset guards at first. then six, tripling once more to an alarming nine—all within a matter of seconds—shouting while they tail the deft shadow of a man who hops from rooftop to rooftop.  

he squints. a hand raises to shield his eyes from the bright lanterns strung overhead, blinking the fireflies out of his vision to make out the shape of someone familiar. a fellow deer, if his memory doesn't fail him, whom he'd seen dashing around the school grounds with an energy that came in spades. sprinting and swinging his polearm every so often to fend off the arcs of swords brought down upon him, and dipping to avoid the radius blast of spells lobbed in his direction.  

( oh, boy.  no time to speculate about what's gone wrong. )

instinct propels shiro forward. he breaks into a full sprint to follow the commotion on the ground, only narrowly avoiding crashing into gala attendees and performers. his head stays turned skyward as he barely manages to pivot, angling his torso away from guests to avoid collision, and the shaft of his naginata held tightly in hand lest he accidentally skewer someone.  

( their odds would be a whole lot better if he could get this guy on the ground. )

"over here!" he hollers. "HEY!"  

still, he runs, refusing to slow down lest he lose sight of the pursuit. prepared to reach his classmate one way or another, eyes darting around until he spots the perfect footholds that come in the shape of balcony railings and protruding window ledges on the side of the manor.  

( if the other can't get to him, shiro figures he'll come around instead.  )

he makes for the building, breath accelerating as he launches himself at one of the ground floor ledges, his naginata hastily tucked into his belt as he grasps onto stone to hoist himself up. one foot lifted at a time to push off until he begins his ascent, biting back a swear at the sudden flash of colors overhead.  

more spells.  

"hang on! i'm coming!"  

fogado's feet glide against the tiles of each roof he treads upon---the same cannot be said for the guards that pursue him, and he winces with each crunch that beats up from behind. dammit, he'd had everything situated and in-place! he doesn't even know where he could have gone wrong; all he can recall is that one minute he'd been fine, the next he'd had nine pairs of eyes on him! what a horrible day to be a 'gado.

spells catapult in all which ways, arcing over his head in showers of sparks or windflits. tsk. he's experienced enough at dodging to keep on his path, but one wrong move and he's off the roof and consorting with death. the flame lance in his hand murmurs, flashing, and every once in a while it keens as the blade of a sword meets it on the handle, but fogado keeps it so close the heat makes his skin begin to sweat.

he leaps across the gaps in two roofs, and it's then that fogado hears a voice from below. " over here! " it calls. " HEY! "

who the--?? fogado chances a peek down and feels his heart sink: someone has noticed him and is now chasing him from below. friend? foe? he can't discern the answer right away and the tips of his fingers itch. it seems like he's trying to help---and if he's not mistaken, that guy looks awfully close to one of the new guys hanging around his class...

there's a sudden elevation on one of the tiles which fogado doesn't notice until it's too late. his foot catches and he yelps, tumbling then recovering then hissing at his foot that is now definitely sprained from the impact. he'll have to keep going until he can get somewhere safe, but

he looks down

and that dude is COMING UP HERE.

As he goes to speak, to praise such rational over carefully thought out words, he feels a wind fly past him and a voice that was sure to alert any any all within the estate.

The table is somehow dust free. Where once stood a beautiful wallpaper that accented the room well and served to bring out the small accents within much of the chosen silverware, there was now a dent. A sizeable one at that.

Darios is quick in grabbing the student, hand covering his mouth to prevent any protest and ducking within one of the small hiding spaces of the manor he'd found earlier.

but it was really funny. so that cancels SOME of it out, right? it totally does.

his nose bleeds a little bit, so he wipes it away. " whaddya mean, ' what was that ' ? it was exactly what it looked like! " fogado cackles behind his now-kinda-bloody hands. " havin' a little fun to break up the monotony of a workday. that's important stuff, y'know---excluding the crashing into a wall, but that's just the unpredictable part! "

...though it might be a little bad that it happened like that. because, well... hurk.

"You are in perfect understanding of who I am and what I am capable of. Good. Someone around here ought to know what it means to welcome a snake into the warren." Curling lip like twitching serpent's tail, the dragon scoffed. A vicious response perfectly aligned with the image that Fogado erected in Rafal's name. "One that has supped upon livestock will not soon forget their taste and may very well strike again. Is that not right, sentinel?"

It wasn't to illusion: the sharp of his tone, the piercing lay of his eyes upon the other. How easy it was to fall into old footsteps - Nil's bitterness. His resentment. The truths plated by Fogado weren't harsh mouthfuls, but his implicit denial of all that occurred between them were. If they must be snake and sentry then let it be so, but Rafal would have preferred they have acted as such mortal enemies from the start. Without excess and diversion. Without the shimmering mirage of a different outcome that the previous masquerade had spelled into being. Anger in that stead wasn't only Fogado's right.

Lips pursed, locking tight, then released with a sharp laugh. Like whip crack against cobbles. Snapping, venom-drenched fangs. "You wish to know of me, but why should I reveal myself to one who will not do the same? When that wisdom is futile? It is as you say, after all: one wrong move and I shall lay another innocent to rest." A sneer; that recital pristine in memory dredged up once more with total clarity. ". . .there are things that must never be forgiven! So long as the criminal lives!"

he's held out for so long, only watching. speculating on what might happen, anticipating hypothetical outcomes, but never truly having the confirmation that would make all of his apprehensions go away. rafal is up to no good, surely---so why does fogado dare crack a smile around him? he'll never let go of that taste of power now that he knows it---so why does fogado waste time playing stupid candy games with him?

the chocolate biscuit stick in his pocket snaps from the impact of rafal's push. fogado sighs, chuckles. yeah. there's no way this could have ever gone differently.

rafal instigates, so fogado returns. instincts fire and muscles lock, and there is no thought needed for him to swing his fist square at rafal's nose. it's a short jab only meant to put distance between them; when he pulls further away, he can start getting a lay of his arsenal. " i knew it! " he spits, legs already vaulting over one of the greenhouse tables. " i knew all of that crap was just for show. you haven't changed---even when you try to act like you have! "

fear and uncertainty no longer have their places here. a new wave of calm takes fogado under and he now crouches in the shadows, eyes fully on rafal. garden shears to fogado's right. clay pot shrapnel in a bag to his left. there are no engage rings here and the prince is squarely at a disadvantage, but give up he shall not. he has finally seen confirmation of what's carried him through this year, and he will not let it go for thought of self-preservation!

" y'look mad. " stars pierce this barrier that man and dragon meet between. " is it 'cuz i watch you too much? or is it that i pointed out that you'll never be any different from who you were in the past?

" ...oh! or maybe, " and he rises from behind a table, shears in hand, " it's because you thought we were chill? like, that we moved on from all of that? "

and with a single assured swipe, the weapon flies.

he pulls a stool close and offers it. " here! use this to hop on up on the saddle, " he says, making sure that all of the equipment is tight and ready for launch. " i'll get up behind you.

surely mitama doesn't know where he's intending to take the two of them. it's not dangerous, good heavens not, but it's not terribly hard to figure out with some thought. would that ruin the surprise if she knew? no, it couldn't! fogado's got a trick up his sleeve... right? that's what's gonna save it, right?

augh, he's overthinking again! now he's standing half-mounted on his horse and chewing his lip. seriously! now is not the time!! he jumps up on the saddle, seated right behind mitama, and he picks up the reins. " ohh-kay! buckled in? seated all snug? feet in the stirrups and all of that good stuff? "