It's Lysithea Von Ordelia!

Lysithea sat in the warm candlelight of the expensive restaurant, tapping her blue heels in a mix of anticipation and annoyance. Her appearance was entirely unlike her day-to-day look, elegant and dainty like an old portrait. She had a teal bouffant dress that she had reluctantly been gifted upon the insistence of her friends, and two teal silk gloves that were slightly too large for her hands. A pair of hanging earrings with the Golden Deer emblem added a contrasting color to the mix, along with a large pearl hairpin that pierced a small bun tightly containing her still-uncut hair. In her arms rested an uncharacteristically ladylike pearl purse with a golden chain around her shoulder, which contained all manner of perfumes and a small emergency cash reserve supplied to her by her generous, yet quite insistent friends. They all agreed to give her bring a concealed knife in her back pocket too, just in case. She didn’t know who this “blind date” of hers was, only that he was in a similar bind as her- studying at a school where most, if not all students were older than them, and thus sorely were lacking romantic pursuits. That fellow, she was assured, was as charming as he was handsome, and upon her pressing the issue, she was also assured of his intelligence, wisdom, and respectability for women. She kept the knife, though. It was a good idea, no matter what. In all honesty, she didn’t really know if she cared at all to go on this date. She was confident in herself, her mission in life, and would never be able to dedicate all the emotional and time investment of a relationship, let alone one with all these irrational, hormone-driven teenagers- which, she liked to conveniently forget, she herself was also. Yet these friends, older and wiser and far more romantically-inclined, pressured her to take this inane, irrational choice to simply 'live a little', as they put it, and now here she was, sitting in the prettiest and most expensive outfit she had ever worn, waiting in a table for two. She had arrived a half-hour early, and so had nothing to do but wait and bemoan her unfortunate situation. Well, that and snack on the free cakes and tea that were provided prior to the meal. That was, arguably, what kept her sticking around for even a second longer. She was about to ask for a second plate of cookies from the waiter when she spotted someone in the distance. She at first gave him merely a passing glance, then more and more stared at him as he walked closer, evidently intending on talking to her. He looked like he fit the qualifications. Was this to be her blind date? 

Lysithea was not aware of whatever comparisons Naesala was making, but she was certainly not appreciative of his chuckling, clearly delivered right after sizing her up. With not a word, he had just revealed how little he thought of her. That look pissed her off enough, but she was too busy being flung around to really do much about it. For all her apparent youth, Lysithea was not in any sort of shape to wrestle against the physical endeavors of Naesala, so while she was surprised at his sudden tug-of-war, she hadn’t a chance in the Goddess’ domain to stop it. She soared like a beautiful bird before landing flat on her back in the kitchen, softened by the grip of Naesala, although she suspected his grip was intentionally loose. The particular kitchen branch they entered was small, dank, and had few goods inside to pilfer, if you’d even want to steal them. This room apparently served as the place to house meats that were “on the verge” of being thrown out for the dogs. Ugh. Lysithea tried not to breathe too much. She was distracted from the smell by the anxiety of the boots resting outside. She watched as the sound grew closer, listened, her heart speeding up at a decent tick every time they took a step. But this anxiety also served, she realized, as a perfect opportunity to get one over her apparent partner-in-crime/captor/enemy/friend. She took that moment to reach inside Naesala’s pocket, take whatever potential valuable was inside, and gently, carefully, place a cookie inside in its place, before putting this pilfered valuable into her pocket. She did so with enough tact and gentleness, and all the while using the distraction of the guard to her advantage, that it’d take a seriously well-trained thief to notice the switch as it happened (rolled a 17!). It was good she did this now rather than after, however, as she soon noticed the wings fluttering up to protect the two of them. She could not help but mutter a small peep of surprise at the large wings, so strong and dark in tinge. She’d seen something similar on Janaff, but these were, if you’ll pardon the phrase, a bird of an entirely different color. Janaff was kind, jovial, a good man even if a bit foolish, and would never use his abilities in bad faith. Naesala was, from where she was sitting, none of the above. She silenced herself relatively quickly, but the guard tarried perhaps a second longer after the noise. They didn’t come back, though. Thank the Goddess. She looked back to Naesala and gave him a firm grimace, her attitude going from one of mild amazement to bubbling anger in just a few sentences. Wow, simply just do better next time? Be more aware? Why didn’t she think of that? She had half a mind to scream for the guard to come back, grab onto Naesala’s stupid wings, and not let go. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind next time. As your incredible brilliance has deduced, surely if I’m found, they’ll arrest the little girl and not the big bad man.” She didn’t say the little girl part with pride- after all, she hated to admit that, at least externally, she still had that look- but she knew the benefits and she knew what the guard was bound to do.

Her heart raced now. She immediately felt ashamed for speaking so freely. What was there to say now?

Passed! (3+ IC Posts Made)  +1 Skill Point for Any Skill Faith: A -> A (14 Points)

Lysithea, for her part, absolutely was expecting some sort of snappy comeback, especially since she was close enough in age to her that she’d likely not feel nearly as bad as the older kids did when responding to her jabs. But it was hardly a saving grace to know the insults were coming, especially some that were as creative as Serra’s. It felt like an art exhibit, how dainty and delicate her back-handed remarks were. She took a second to regain her balance. Lashing out would clearly do her no good with this type of girl. “E-etiquette is for foolish fops and foppish fools.” She stated plainly, occupying her hands by sorting through her papers absentmindedly, not really paying too much attention to how she went about it. “I only treat people as they ought to be treated.” Well, as she saw fit to treat them, maybe. But it seemed by the gazes of her peers that Serra wasn’t entirely unique to receive such a tongue-lashing. “And perhaps I could say the same to you- You’ve hardly shown yourself to have dignity nor stature.” Her composure broke ever so slightly upon hearing that she was a messy person, her eyes shooting from the papers to meet Serra. “M-messiness has nothing to do with it! I am nothing like a... a toddler playing with the dirt.” Ouch. A sore spot, perhaps? “Since I am figuring you hadn’t yet read the syllabus, let me explain what it means to get messy in this class-.” She tried to speak up, but was overridden by Serra’s pretentious attempt at reconciliation. Her pink twin-tails looked like a matador’s red cape to Lysithea’s bullish instincts. It felt like every time she was almost able to calm herself down, the noble girl would do something to throw her off balance again! It was a miserable cycle. “My name is Lysithea. Lysithea von Ordelia. But you can call me ‘madam’.” She hissed back. Perhaps this time she’d finally get the memo- no one would boss Lysithea around.

Her room was diligently organized, indeed, but it had seen better days. Her desk itself was awash with ink bottles in need of refilling, half-dipped quills, old tomes with bindings at the verge of breaking, balled-up parchment formed into a loose quarter-pyramid against the wall and a flurry of papers jostled at 30, 45 and 60 degree angles as appropriate to all face towards the mage girl, now seated at her throne to judge her late-night work and complete the final arc.  Hubert, for his part, was seemingly sizing up her abode with the scrupulousness of a real estate mogul, obviously not caring too much about the paper- which did earn him an eyebrow raise of suspicion. She didn’t like the way his eyes fluttered about her room, nor the analytical mind behind said eyes that appraised her worth, as if all on offer at the pawn shop. She felt vulnerable, especially now that her back was turned to him. Despite the foreboding distraction, she would crack down on her work’s final segment.  She got about two sentences of the way through before being hit by a backhanded comment of his- at least, she assumed it was backhanded, based on her limited experience with the ghastly Black Eagle. Come to think of it, she barely knew the man beyond the hearsay that dominated the Academy’s underground gossip columns and rumor mills. But despite her hatred for such resources, she had always believed them when it came to Hubert. For the first time in a while, she wondered if she was perhaps being unfair to the man. It was... surprising, to say the least, when it turned out that comment was a compliment. A good one, as well. Her cheeks, involuntarily and without understanding, became a strong shade of red. “U-uhmm... well, I learned it from a few tutors, but mostly it was self-taught. I hadn’t much to do as a child but read and write, you see, and little else really interested me.” She quickly added, as she would be remiss to forget- “Unlike some of my peers, I had to get to where I am today through hard work and discipline, not natural talent.” Now away from her work and turning back to face the man, ever strange in his ways and demeanor, she returned his compliment in atypical kind. “The little I have read of your works have been nothing short of scrupulous to the umpteenth degree, Hubert. I must say, not one classmate could match it. How did you learn to be so precise, as to never have any results short of three decimal places?”

She was used to dealing with bullies by standing up to them, facing them on their own turf, using their own weaponry, to try and prove to them that they were a fool to take her on. Yet, all that slid away into a vat of oil and grunge as she stared into the terrifying man’s eyes in the darkness, like watching her nightmares come to life. At first, his appearance was just a mite spooky, but as soon as he began to speak, her hands began to quake involuntarily in fright. It took almost all of her strength to not just nod and agree when he started to say that she wasn’t good at this. In her heart, she wanted to shout back at him and demand that he apologize, that he respect her, that he should call her ‘Ms. Ordelia’ or ‘Lysithea’, not ‘Girl’. But such was flights of fancy as that piercing stare melded her boots to the floor. At best, as of right now, she could only maintain an ostensible air of stoicism.  But perhaps she could have a ledge to grab onto. That little bit of haughtiness in her voice returned when he made her the offer. While he knew about her love for sweets, it’s clear he’s interested in using it for his own leverage, perhaps for some sick and twisted act of dessert-poisoning that would leave the Academy without sweet treats for months. But she was merely a captive now, and it was her only way of getting out of this situation alive with her dignity intact. “A-alright. I’ll graciously lend you my expertise... if you promise, and swear by whatever god or goddess it is you worship, that this...” She gestures to her bag of secret sweets, now held daintily in her hands. “...stays between us. Alright?” She suddenly thrust herself back against the wall and into the little alcove as she heard the sound of feet marching closer. An actual guard patrol seemed to be on the way, and she had half a mind to thrust the stranger into the light and let justice be served. But she had chosen the way of darkness- the sweet, sweet way of darkness- and now she was to stick with it.

Lysithea was never going to stand down to bullies, no matter how much that bullying was likely going to be a problem for her in the long run. Making an enemy out of such a physically (and most likely, politically and/or financially) man was probably a bad idea, but she care at the moment. For every one of his biting words, harsh and grating like a bulldog barking, she stared in his eyes without backing down. Her stature and her physiology did react on instinct by wincing- how could it not, after all- but her will kept her from folding like a paper plate completely. That, and her re-remembered conviction that, if this man were to try and cleave her skull, he’d be in serious trouble for the crime. “Lecture you outside of class hours? You seriously believe a mild talking-to about such inconsiderate manners is a lecture?” She counters his scoff with an even scoffier, more pretentious scoff, with such force of scoffing as to completely blow away any mortal man. Yet neither were mere mortals, at least in terms of scoff-power-magnitude. “You s-should thank me for being considerate enough to give you that time of day to correct your mistake.” Despite her turning of phrase and general hostility, the man seemed to take on jovial airs and actually accepted her request for a slice of the apple. Yet, his rejection of her initial offer to have the one in his hand struck her as confusing, then quite unsavory, and before she could even think to process what he meant by ‘think fast’ combined with a bit of fear at the sudden winding up for that huge punch, she felt- BONK. Once more; an encore with taste most poor. At first, she was too stunned to even react to the pain of the bonking. But when she regained her senses, she gazed at him with the devil’s own spirit in her eyes. “You Goddess-damned bat from hell.” And she, the weak, tiny, white-haired mage girl... ...lunged at him.

She winced. Right, of course. He was in the same class as her, three seats behind, two seats to the left, perfectly positioned to keep an eye on Edelgard and her would-be assassins from any possible direction. It was hard to not notice his gaudy, gaunt look. “Right. Well, congratulations on getting it done. I suppose you did your thesis on how to sneak around quietly in the middle of the night and scare innocent people using some new, twisted form of dark magic?” She tried to act dry and disinterested, but she did admit that she found the few papers she’d read from him to be very stimulating and far beyond the quality of his or her peers. In fact, if it wasn’t for his haunting demeanor, she’d be more than willing to work with him above most of her classmates- he’s not annoying, he is always prompt and punctual, and he works himself to the bone to accomplish his goals, just like she does. A mild creak echoes through the silent courtyard as the thick wooden door guarding Lysithea’s abode opens up to the Empire’s most feared man. She flinched at seeing his face, although in this light, with that smile, and in this state of exhaustion, he seemed less frightening. Not comfortable, not warm, but... neutral. Like a missionary from a far-off land coming to the door, with a look of infinite possibilities and unpredictable morality. Which is probably more off-putting for her than his normal scary look.  She mulls over his proposition with an unshaking expression, in contrast to her shaking hands and deep spots beneath her eyes. “W-well... okay. I suppose I need something to keep me awake, if I’m to have a snowball’s chance of finishing. Just don’t be annoying.” She opens the door up, allowing him inside tentatively, then returning to her studies. “It’s not that complex. Just... you can read it, if you like.” The inside of Lysithea’s room was rather plain, but organized like nobody’s business. She had rows upon rows of filing cabinets, shelves of folders, and a tiny kitchen. Next to her bed, was... what seemed to be a huge closet, locked with a hefty padlock. A few strange devices were next to the windows and the door, which appeared to be tripwires attached to bells. They weren’t set up, but they looked professional.

Serra was either an absolute genius or a complete nincompoop in how skillfully and technically she was able to push ALL of Lysithea’s buttons. Her haughty appearance alone had made it quite apparent to the prudently-garbed Lysithea that she was dealing with someone with particular sensibilities, but the girl had a mouth as well. By the time she was finished with her little spiel about being called a stranger, Lysithea’s annoyance had reached a new record level for meeting a new person. It was almost like destiny, as star-crossed nuisances, to completely piss the other off. “Now, I don’t know what upper-crust you decided to flake off of, Sarah-whatever, but I don’t need you to tell me what to do and what not to do- like I’m some sort of toddler.” She whispers, her angry glare stronger than the force of a stampeding bull. The teacher was spouting off a few brief instructions, but she’d completely lost track of whatever he was saying. By that point, a few classmates had glanced over, and made the conscious choice to look away from the inevitable scene about to be made. She continued, edging out whatever retort the girl was going to counter with. “I don’t care what your name is, if you’re a lady or not, or what family tree your apple didn’t fall far from. All that matters in this classroom is if you’re able to get your hands dirty.” She swung an arm out to gesture to the rest of the class, a mix of a sweeping, all-encompassingness and physical violence. “All the rest of these imbeciles were too incompetent to keep up with me. Now, miss know-it-all, do you think you can?”

Faith: A -> A (13 Points) 

Lysithea had chosen her topic for her second semester final project on, not perhaps a whim, but a brief jaunt of interest in a particular subject that she had previously not even given the time of day- the theory of “silenced” dark magic, or spells possible without verbal incantations for the purpose of not arousing attention and, in the best possible case, overcoming the silence spell.  It was a controversial theory, one that once had ethical debates raring as intensely as scientific experiments, but interest had largely died down a few years prior when the best successes had been achieved largely in faith and fire magic areas.  Still, there was space for Lysithea to make her mark, and despite her early failures when attempting something similar for Dark Spikes, she had eventually managed to come upon a weakened version of Nosferatu to work without reaching a decibel level audible beyond five feet. And better yet, it was replicable! Now, all she had to do was write her actual thesis, and then she’d be done with her class. Well, IF she could do that. Academics was her happy place, that was obvious to any casual observer. She was never happier than when she had her nose buried in a book. But even she had her physical limits, and now coming upon her second all-nighter working on her assignment with only a brief two-and-a-half-hour nap to tide her over, she was running on fumes even before her pen hit paper.  When her head had hit the table for the third time without her even realizing it, Lysithea realized it was perhaps prudent to get some fresh air to keep herself awake. The guards wouldn’t bother her, she thought, and it was not a haunting night for any of the ghosting traditions she truly trusted, so it would be safe. Walking outside in the fresh, chilly air of absolute darkness, the girl’s thoughts drifted to the person she thought of when that previous tender suggestion flitted into her mind. Her mother was a true role-model to her, as diligent in her care as she was strong in her convictions. Her father was, although less worldly and perhaps even gullible from his comfy upbringing, still a man with a heart of gold and the willingness to give his citizens the best life he could offer. It was never a week without her parents sending her a letter, and she wrote back promptly and concisely. All of her hard work was for them- to make them proud, and return the favor for how much they had done for her in her life to give her a small sense of normalcy.  Despite the scars, they loved her like no other. For a second, a smile crossed her lips, and stayed there. The air smelled sweeter for some reason, when she thought of them. Like honey candies, warm and sweet and peaceful. That bit of peace was snapped suddenly when she looked behind her to see a light turning the corner, no more than five yards from her room. At first, she thought it was a guard. Then, worse yet, she thought it was a ghost of some kind (were her haunting charts wrong?). Out of instinct, she quickly dashed back into her room and shut the door without making a sound, hoping that beyond any reasonable hope, the figure would ignore her. Which was, of course, not happening. It was Hubert. By the Goddess, she had never so wanted to be haunted before in her life. “I’m... I’m simply working on my thesis.” She hissed, her voice betraying her obvious suspicion of the man. “I have quite a bit finished already and I don’t wish to lose momentum. It’s almost done, anyhow.” “W-what about you, hmm? What nefarious deeds are you up to at this hour of night?” She attempted to turn the conversation around on her attacker. @heartoftheloathsome​

Lysithea had been not entirely unfamiliar with Naesala. She’d seen him passing in the halls, once or twice, and yet gave him only the mind that any other stranger would receive. Now, however, she begged and pleaded with the Goddess to have instead made him some sort of ghostly apparition that would disappear as soon as coming into view. Her prayers went sadly unanswered. Tall, dark, strong, clearly aged- in all respects, he seemed like a staff member who’d out her without accepting even her best of bribes. But as a fellow thief, that was even worse. What if she’d stumbled onto his robbing hours, and now had a target on her back as a witness? Did Garreg Mach even have the equivalent of a witness protection system, like Ordelia had? Questions she’d reasonably never need to ask came flooding, before suddenly being halted as the man’s eyes locked with her own. She furiously thrust her pastries into her pockets, trying to not look stupid or childish in front of the stranger. For some weird reason, his stare alone felt judgmental. In a random and entirely unplanned excuse, she decided to be bold- hoping to somehow wipe that judging look off his face. “I-I’ve been posted here as the guard for this kitchen. My job is to sniff out suspicious individuals- such as yourself- skulking around the shadows. N-now I’ve caught you, because you foolishly revealed yourself by underestimating me!“ She muttered out, breath still ragged, her heart racing. She tried to be quiet, just in case someone who was an ACTUAL guard could hear her.

Lysithea’s brewing class was probably her least favorite class as far as classes that were based somewhat on magics. It wasn’t for a lack of good curriculum or reason to learn, as she knew the value of each remedy or booster shot or so forth that she learned- as often as not, various doctors had used it on her in the past to varying degrees of effectiveness. It wasn’t for the smell of the class, although that did disturb her, and it wasn’t the teacher, although he was too quiet for her personal preference. Rather, it was the group projects. FORCED group projects, with whoever was next to her. The seating was chosen for each student beforehand, but so far that was a very loose rule- apparently she was the only one who obeyed it. She’d worked with a variety of students, mostly less intelligent than herself but a few moreso, yet consistently all of them were insufferable, unproductive, or most often both at the same time. Only by doing more work than if she was alone could she survive. It hadn’t bothered her too much at first, but when every project, every class period, was with a group, she begun to despise that classroom and all within it. More than once she had snapped, yelling at her project partner for their incompetence and getting a firm talking-to from the teachers for it. That garnered her a reputation among her classmates- ‘she’s more venomous than the poisons we’re trying to cure‘, a few would whisper behind her shoulder. One period, she found herself partnered with her actual, *official* seating partner. Serra. The girl wasn’t someone she had seen before, so it was a refreshing change of pace from the usual buffoonish faces she’d had to contend with in the past. But when the teacher announced the semester project was going to be a two-person assignment on creating a collaborative invisibility potion, that excitement drained away. She sighed and rocked her head in her hands as the rest of the class slowly began to filter into their research stations. “By the Goddess, why must we have so many? We’ve had seven group projects this month alone.” She hissed, mostly to herself. She turned over to her partner, a defeated sort of look buried in her pink irises, and muttered something that could barely be called a joke for how dry it was. “So, stranger girl, what bright ideas might you have?” @serraic

The Ordelians were no wealthy robber baron. Her family, despite being one of the wealthiest in the Alliance for its size just a scant few decades before, was now modest in its fortunes. Due to years of culled generations and embezzled profits, their debts were eye-popping levels of high. They were perhaps even, one would say, impoverished, as far as nobles went. And the little they did have was oft spent for benefiting, as much as possible, the conditions of their subjects, and investing in their future yields through new infrastructure projects rather than exploiting them harsher with higher taxes. But that didn’t mean her family was peasant-type poor. Because of her mother’s connections with the merchants of the Alliance, they never lacked for having the best, most metropolitan supplies in their ancestral home- choice foodstuffs from Almyra, incredible silks of great value from the Kingdom, valuable doctors and medicines from the Empire, and everything in between. Much of that Lysithea carried with her, including a host of pricey potion ingredients. She was not really in need. She stole from the kitchen out of a sweet tooth- and as much as she could, she left behind some cash to cover the costs. So when a stranger passed her by in her late-night kitchen raids, she was incredibly shook up. It was late, very late, and not a time she really had thought would be popular for fellow thieves. After all, if it was food they wanted, why not come by day? Less patrols, less suspicion, and most of the chefs kept the door unlocked during non-night break hours. In fact, she betted on that she was solo in her raids. She slammed herself against the wall, breathing deeply. A trail of crumbs led directly to her hiding spot. Was she spotted? Was she going to be turned over to the guards? Was it a guard, hiding in incognito to sniff her out? Was it just a stranger who forgot the curfew had been imposed? She scarfed down a cookie to calm her nerves. She could only wait to figure out what exactly the other stranger was trying to do.  @aliferousumbra

Faith: B+ -> A (12 Points) [GAINED: Black/Dark Magic Crit +10!]

Kurth was a teacher whom Lysithea had studied under a few times, but whom she never got a good bead on. Peaceful, a bit intelligent, responsive, but generally not up to her personal standards of keeping rowdy students under control. She never thought it worthwhile to stay behind in his classes, mostly since they butted right behind her dark magics and potion classes. Yet, any faculty in this circumstance was bad news- after all, who knows if they might report her? Her bribing and threatening tactics didn’t seem to be getting through to him despite everything, which only made her feel more stubborn. She stuffed the cookies away carelessly. “Ugh. Fine. I can give you money, if you want? Or I can promise you I’ll bake something for you. Like an IOU... just, please, please don’t-” But as soon as she actually processed what he was saying, she felt instantly relieved. And a bit confused. And then, a smidge suspicious. “Wait. You aren’t going to tell anyone? Even thought I’m out after curfew? Isn’t that required for all staff? I mean, even if I was just going to the kitchen to get a few of those delicious, mouth-watering new pastries that new chef cooked up...” She glanced down into her pockets, her stomach audibly growling. “B-but if I told someone like that, they’d think I’m some child who only likes desserts and candy and wanted to satisfy her sweet tooth by stealing. And that’s a lie! I was just... I was just hungry, and that’s all they had.”