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"I saw you standing on the sidelines─watching the action from afar. To really know what it’s like, you have to dive in and lose yourself with the rest of us."
- Pandreo, C Support w/ Alcryst
Pandreo from Fire Emblem Engage | Unaffiliated assistant faculty at TOA! | Portrayed by Autumn. Feel free to come hang out! icon by me
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*dragging my singed and crispy body over to you* party at my place tonight?
non-mission board | restoration
Pandreo finds himself listing toward Fogado, leaning against the wall that separates them. When Fogado's fingers pass through the grate, shaking and seeking, Pandreo laces them with his own without thinking about it.
The time for words has...mostly passed. Pandreo worries that his words mostly served himself, and not Fogado, but...he still meant all of them. He should've said them years ago.
"You can be scared, buddy," Pandreo murmurs, keeping himself steady. "You can let it out. It's just me. I'm right here, I'm not leaving."
Things have never been this dire between them, a thread ready to snap at the slightest breeze. "I'm here," Pandreo repeats, even as he continues to cry. He knows why Fogado needed some separation, but he longs to feel Fogado's weight against him, to hear his heartbeat, any reminder beyond broken sobs that Fogado is alive. But this fleeting touch of fingertips will suffice for now.
"I'm here, Fogado. I'm always here."
fogado sniffles, biting his lip in a futile attempt to stifle his trembling jaw. all of this is supposed to be wrong, but it feels... right, sorta. it's cathartic, if anything... and that's what confessionals are supposed to be for, right? his fingers clench weirdly around pandreo's when he feels them meet behind the grate, but suddenly this is not enough for him anymore.
he draws his hands away and stands, scooting out from his own booth and quickly standing at the mouth of pandreo's. it's taking a lot for him to just stand there instead of doing anything else---running, hiding, going back to his spot unseen---but above all, the selfish little creature just wants comfort.
" sorry about, " he hiccups, " leavin' you hanging. i'll, make it up t'you. " and me. he crowds into pandreo's space like it's meant for two and wraps his arms around his friend like letting go meant death. it's a bear hug to rival the roughest at his parties, but there's a different tone this time. he's sure pandreo understands.
" i think... i'm done. right now. i just wanna... chill. can we do that? "
Pandreo sighs with a relief he's never felt as Fogado crashes against him. He returns the hug just as ferociously, clinging to Fogado's back, another tear spilling at the feeling of Fogado's breath against his shoulder.
"No, no," Pandreo assures him, smile returning, pressing it into Fogado's hair. "You got nothin' to make up to me. I'm just...so glad to have you back."
They've completely wrung themselves dry, withered and bloomed back into each other. Exhausted, but empty of tension. It might not be quite the right time for a rager, but the next best thing Pandreo can think of in this state is a quiet night in with his best friend.
Silently, Pandreo sends a quick prayer: may Fogado find peace, and mercy, and know how deeply he is loved. May I be strong enough to be his guiding hand.
Pandreo pats Fogado lightly on the back. "I'm here, for anything you need, you know that. I love you, man."
Soon, they'll find someplace a little comfier to be. They might stay up late into the night and watch the stars and talk about all the silly things they used to - or they might pass out in a pile of blankets and limbs on the floor. There's no way of knowing. But it's by Fogado's side that he'll stay, and that's enough to face the rest of the evening with his usual sunny grin.
end.
*dragging my singed and crispy body over to you* party at my place tonight?
non-mission board | restoration
Pandreo is thankful that Fogado can't hear his heart shattering. His own tears have begun to fall, but at the moment, Pandreo could care less. He rolls up his sleeves, digs his nails into his skin as a tether to the earth. Digs deep to find something, anything that can act as a tourniquet.
"When I first saw you in our little flock," Pandreo begins quietly, just loud enough to be heard over Fogado's quiet sobs, "I knew you would be special to me. And it had nothing to do with your bloodline, or what you'd do under duress. You have this...light in you, Fogado. And it makes everybody's burdens lighter, just by being in the same room with you."
That's not gonna cut it; not by half. But Pandreo's barely begun.
"You just...instinctively always know what everybody needs. If something's on their mind, if they're not having fun...I may be a priest, but all of that interpersonal stuff? I didn't learn it from Mom, Foge, I learned it from you."
There might be a little fracture in the wall at best, but...nothing more. It's okay. He's not going to fix this with a wave of a hand.
"I've always known you'd do whatever was necessary, no matter how dirty your hands got. That's what being a Sentinel's all about, yeah? But I wasn't brave enough to dirty my hands, unless it was an order from the Divine One."
It's...a slip. He might get chastised for indirectly calling Fogado brave, but he forges on. Nothing more about himself. "The most wonderful, unfallible part of you, Fogado, is how much you love the world. But I'll tell you here and now, you never have to love it alone."
I was an idiot to leave your side. Forgive me. Some of this baggage should be mine.
when fogado feels as though he has allowed himself enough self-pity---very little for someone like him, undeserving of much more---he bites the knuckle of his index finger, grinding his teeth against it until he can force himself to stop making those horrible choking-cries of someone not ready to stop crying yet. he wishes it were possible to physically smother the parts of himself that are so unsightly, but this is the closest he can get to it. it could be worse, he tells himself, but it can also get worse. loss of composure is never promising.
not unlike the other times he has done this, fogado's chest pierces with the stalactite sorrows he forces down. it hurts with the yearning to really be known, more than most because pandreo really is one of those people that could know fogado as more than he wants to show, but despite the kindness it would be to both parties he is simply afraid and has not earned that right. he has pushed through year after painful year to make sure he stays right at that happy medium; why should he let himself topple over when the fight still rages on?
so he listens to pandreo's comforts with a cold buzz in his chest down to his stomach. was what fogado fought through commendable? one could say that---fogado himself wouldn't. that's a piece out of his life's work. a fraction of the whole he will spend his days filling. who compliments an artist for every stroke he makes? he's almost motivated to tell pandreo to stop, he doesn't need to do all of this, but would it be worse to interrupt him? would it be worse to disregard the very real and palpable emotion he feels from the other side of the grate?
he wants to deflect all of this so very badly that he does it as soon as he thinks about it. pandreo is just saying things, as all retainers are wont to do. it's normal stuff, he wants to say, so it all shouldn't be taken that seriously anyways.
but if that's the case, then why does he feel something lodged in his windpipe regardless?
fogado tries to say something but all that comes out is some odd, mangled sob-grunt. he shuts up, waits a moment, and tries again to the same result, and he damn near beats the wooden lip of the confessional out of a loss of patience. he's lost his grip and he can't get it back---what is he supposed to do now? how can he fix this? how can he save this situation so that pandreo doesn't see him any less? what if this happens with someone that isn't pandreo; what is the solution?!
" pan--- dreo, i--- " fogado chokes out, head leaning forwards, craving companionship, before quickly yanking away. " i don't--- know what to do---! i---! i---! " sobbing once more, not really even sure how to stop it, fogado sticks his fingers through the grate, stretching out on a hope that pandreo hasn't found the whole endeavor gross and weird and decided to leave. " i'm just so scared. i'm so scared! "
Pandreo finds himself listing toward Fogado, leaning against the wall that separates them. When Fogado's fingers pass through the grate, shaking and seeking, Pandreo laces them with his own without thinking about it.
The time for words has...mostly passed. Pandreo worries that his words mostly served himself, and not Fogado, but...he still meant all of them. He should've said them years ago.
"You can be scared, buddy," Pandreo murmurs, keeping himself steady. "You can let it out. It's just me. I'm right here, I'm not leaving."
Things have never been this dire between them, a thread ready to snap at the slightest breeze. "I'm here," Pandreo repeats, even as he continues to cry. He knows why Fogado needed some separation, but he longs to feel Fogado's weight against him, to hear his heartbeat, any reminder beyond broken sobs that Fogado is alive. But this fleeting touch of fingertips will suffice for now.
"I'm here, Fogado. I'm always here."
🎲awoo
"AWOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"
Awooooo!!!!
awoo!!
Brodia's valleys echo their howls, carrying the sound through the mountains. The best part of Pandreo's parties is gearing up for the next one, and that can't be done without his friend's famous calls. It's the war cry to put warriors in the right mindset for battle!
Alcryst bites down his tongue, trying to hold back laughter. He's listening for the wolves to answer their call. His lungs burn from all the screaming. It's worth it when he finally hears a new chorus of howls in the distance.
"Yeah, let's go!!!" Alcryst's voice is all but lost, but he doesn't care. He throws his arms around Pandreo, kissing him as he wheezes out delighted laughter. "We did it, Pandreo!"
21. Dealer's choice! A kiss while laughing
heaven of the human spirit
pandreo & dimitri - Mission Board: Restoration [Faith +1]
Of all the people that Pandreo might have expected to tag along to test his weatherization spell, he certainly hadn't expected…the crown heir of the Kingdom. Dimitri carries himself with the gravitas of a noble (as odd as that still feels sometimes, coming from Solm), but it particularly impresses Pandreo that he's willing to dirty his hands like this.
And, well. There's another reason that Pandreo is suspecting that Dimitri is out here with him. He's never been north of Garreg Mach, but he's heard that much of the Kingdom is a snowy tundra, so he'd bet that Dimitri fares well in the cold. Pandreo, though…it's the first week of the ninth moon, and he's decked out in three graciously-offered fur cloaks, as well as gloves and a big fluffy scarf. And still, his desert blood turns to ice in his veins. It's not even snowing yet.
He probably won't need to come out into the field again, but seeing as Pandreo wrote the spell himself, it feels only right that he test it at least once.
"Okay, Your Highness," Pandreo says through chattering teeth, "As you know there's…t-two spells here, one macro and one micro. The macro should create a light barrier around the whole settlement, but I'm not s-sure how long it'll hold, so I'll cast the micro on each building, too." Divines, this is so embarrassing. He can barely speak, and Dimitri looks like he could be sunbathing about now.
And then, hours sooner than they'd anticipated, the first flakes of Fódlan's imminent winter drift silently to the ground. The sky is thick with heavy gray clouds. Pandreo suddenly frets that the magic may not hold up as he'd hoped.
(Then again…this is the point of faith. Not knowing, and believing anyway.)
"Shit," Pandreo bites, "it's starting." He holds up his hands, lips moving to words that he wrote himself. Nothing but those words, and Dimitri at his back.
@blaiddllodi
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i just read a book called the bible, have you ever heard of it?
Pandreo's brave face cracks. Griss had undoubtedly wanted that, wanted to see his fear, and that's what he's getting. Pandreo hopes it's enough to sate him.
His short nails dig into Griss' arm, and he manages to wriggle free of that vicegrip he could feel his pulse against. But Pandreo knows that if Griss really wanted to keep him there, keep him from breathing, he could overpower Pandreo easily.
And here Pandreo is, picking a fight. It's a shame that's the only way to get through to a guy like him. Minutes ago, Pandreo still held the delusion that the post-war life had softened him.
"We both saw the suffering in the world," Pandreo croaks, and "you decided to become a part of it. And then you hid behind your faith. I don't know why I expected better. Maybe that makes me a fool."
Throat undoubtedly bruised, Pandreo pivots his body toward the exit. Not like his wounded pride ever mattered to him, anyway. "But if it makes me a fool for wanting to make peace with my enemy, then it makes you a fucking coward."
If he doesn't make it out of this Gods-damned library in one piece, he'll ride some stupid smug high into the next life. He sees Lady Veyle's face in his mind, thinks about how deeply she cares for the people who believe in her. How this is what she gets in return.
The laugh that Pandreo's talk of suffering drags out of Griss has a rough, grating edge to it when it pitches up toward but never topples over the precipice of hysteria. It almost seems to distract him, because he doesn't chase after Pandreo to get his hands around his neck again or to pull him back into reach by the hem of his robes.
"How's that saying going?" he starts facetiously. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em? Hah, if this world is full of suffering, I might as well enjoy myself."
The broad, taunting grin falls abruptly from his face when presented with Pandreo's retreating back, however. If the man can't see the goading, then he's not going to waste his energy. But that doesn't mean he's about to let him just stroll out of here scott-free. Especially not on that note.
Coward? The laughter that word elicits is a much darker sort.
He hefts the tome he'd been reading up off the table and flings it at the back of Pandreo's head.
"You really think I'm gonna let you just leave without giving you a taste of that exquisite pain? After you practically begged me for it?" Suddenly his voice turns honey-sweet, and he ambles across the room toward the exit himself whether Pandreo has gotten his wits about him and left or not. "Come on now. I'll show you how the fell church worships its god... by cutting you up, slowly, piece by piece."
Divines, damn it all. Pandreo really waltzed himself into something stupid. He knows he can get away, but needing to tiptoe around the monastery to keep himself from getting decked is really not the life he envisioned for himself here.
Minutes ago, he thought he might get a compelling conversation out of this. What a dumbass, he thinks to himself. An overly-optimistic dumbass who thinks all the world's problems can be fixed by singing and dancing. That's the way most of the world sees him, and he shouldn't have expected Griss to be any different.
He runs. He has no witty snapback or bold retort. He's out of options with only himself to blame.
(And most shameful of all....Pandreo still just wants to understand Griss. To understand his faith. Even if it means pain, even if it means spitting out his teeth.)
Something in him doesn't want this to be the end. Something still wants to grow enough to navigate someone like Griss; to roll with the punches, so to speak.
But for now, there's none of that. He'll find some quiet place to lick his wounds, and maybe when he dreams, Griss will be there with that bloody grin, just to taunt him.
end.
Activity Check - February '25
PASSED!
Skill Points earned: Monthly: 1 (Total: 7)
Allocated: Faith: D+>>>C!
Classes Accessed: Priest Classes Mastered: N/A
Spell gained: Seraphim!
🎲
[ 4. A kiss to the top of the head ] (cw: blood and injury; nothing too graphic but pls be well)
Usually, the Garreg Mach infirmary doesn't see too many grievous injuries. Mostly scuffs and bruises from rough training, or students who've taken a tumble off of an ornery horse. Today, though, Sakura is called to the front gate for a villager whose condition is so dire that he won't make it to her on his own. Pandreo runs behind her without a second thought; he's been tasked with assisting her for the day, and that's just what he'll do.
This small, resolute woman doesn't panic at the sight of the slashing wound across the man's chest, blood pooling on the stone beneath him. He's breathing shallowly but unable to talk; Sakura calmly informs Pandreo that his lungs may have been damaged.
Two other monks are on standby while Sakura works. Pandreo does as he's told - hold your hands here; apply more pressure, please; tear off some gauze, would you? - and he understands immediately why Sakura had been summoned over any other healer on site. She's young, but she carries herself like an elder bishop. Like her presence alone is a healing force.
The man's wounded chest glows under her delicate hands…but very little changes. Pandreo has never felt more helpless, watching her eyes begin to shine with tears as their charge keeps fading. She casts her spell again - and again, and again, and again. Pandreo devotes himself to keeping her steady, keeping himself in check.
After long minutes, the bleeding stops. The worst of the cut has sealed over; the man has fallen unconscious, but his breathing is normal. Sakura bows slightly, and Pandreo wonders if she's praying - when he glances her way, though, he realizes she's crying.
She shakes there on her knees, hiding her face and gasping for breath. Pandreo's chest lurches - she had stayed so strong, even fearing the worst, and now all of the emotions she's been ebbing can flow freely. Now that the danger has passed, she is allowed to lay her mantle down.
The attending monks drop to their knees, too, certainly praying. Pandreo doesn't want to be helpless anymore, sitting idle while chances to connect with others pass him by. He scooches closer to Sakura, tentatively offering his shoulder as she continues to sob.
She lays her head there, wordless. Pandreo can feel the little wet spot on the sleeve of his robe. He's suffused with warmth, with awe for her. Surely, he still has a lot to learn.
He hopes she can forgive the brush of his lips against the top of her head. He used to do it for his own sister, years ago, when her anger subsided into tears, and she sought a rare comfort at his side.
"You did wonderfully," Pandreo tells her, just barely above a whisper. He'll stay with her at the gate for as long as she needs.
🎲 hi fellow ginger
[ 25. An accidental kiss ]
He managed to escape her clutches back on the Somniel, but he's not so lucky anymore.
Pandreo and Etie had shared a couple of meals and fought in close quarters a few times, but he kept some measure of deliberate distance, since she was always hauling people by the ear to run laps with her or do squats or some other ridiculous thing. Is it important to keep his body fit? Sure. Does he want to do that by making himself suffer and sweat and hyperventilate as soon as he wakes up? Dragon's hells, no.
He's on his back in the training ground, and she's holding his ankles. His abs are burning. He's aching in muscles he didn't know he had. And still she cheers him on, her voice loud and ringing against the crisp morning air. If only he could convince her to use those lungs at a party; do things his way next time.
Pandreo's breaths are heaving, but he'll pull himself up one last time. For her. Because they're friends. His vision is unfocused as he lifts up, not noticing her readjusting herself forward. It all happens too fast. Their foreheads bump - ow! - and then their lips touch.
He knows that she knows that he doesn't mean anything by it, but also, he doesn't immediately move away. He can't explain why. He just...sits there for a moment. Studies this feeling, like a bug in a cup.
They're both laughing when they break apart. He fumbles over an apology. At least he's done with this torture for the day.
[ ♫ ] ─ * 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫
cupido bash mini | continued from x:
She........claps. Like he's a seal that's balanced a ball on his nose. Oh...kay. Not quite the vibe he was aiming for, but he knows she must mean well. She's a performer, so for her, this is the highest form of flattery.
(But parties aren't about flattery! Parties are about BEING WILD AND LOUD TOGETHER!)
He bites back a little sigh. "Miss Dorothea, I'm only a poor fool if I'm howling by myself. But the two of us howling together, that's where the magic happens. It's the...together part that's important. Please? Would you?"
He hopes he doesn't sound pathetic. Like he's begging for this lady of sophistication to speak his silly little alien language. But in some way or another, he wants - maybe even needs - her to understand how this feels. He holds her gaze, smiling encouragingly.
His entire body bends back in preparation, arms held high. This time, he does think of it like a performance, if only so Dorothea might be able to match him better. Big breath in, and -
"AWOOOOO! AR-AR-AR-AROOOOOOOOOoooooOOOOOOOoooOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
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[SPIN THE BOTTLE] Between those gathered here, it seems that this bottle wants her to be stuck with two specific people-- the gentleman whose reservation is actually pretty cute, and the girl that she expected to be more shy than she is in her affections. Shamir supposes it could be worse, and she's actually quite thankful that she didn't get stuck with people she didn't exactly care for. "You again, huh?" She chuckles under her breath, scooting a bit closer to his side. Her hand comes up to graze against the curve of his jaw, eyes locking for a brief moment as their breaths mingle in the small space between them. The first second her lips brush against his, it's gentle-- almost tentative as if she's testing the waters... but the hesitation fades quickly. She leans back in to press them together with more urgency, the next kiss she dives into lingering a bit longer than the last. Her fingers tangle in his hair to drag him closer, free hand grabbing his own and pulling it to rest at her waist. By the time she pulls away, she's a little breathless, but she does a decent enough job of keeping it from showing. "... Maybe I've had one too many."
The second time, he's way more relaxed. Shamir seems to find him amusing, so this probably won't be awkward when the pretense of the party is over. Whew! His shoulders drop, and he can enjoy himself a bit.
She's handsier this time around, smooth black leather sliding across his jaw, fingers in his hair. It's kind of exciting! He kisses her back enthusiastically, though he feels like his whole face is pulled in a big, dumb grin the whole time.
Then his hand is pulled to her side, just under her ribcage; the pulse there flutters quick and strong. She's like no one he's ever held, ever kissed before, and he don't know if he ever will again, so he hauls her closer. She's not a firecracker; she burns slow, like a bonfire in the desert.
Pandreo's probably got stars in his eyes by the time she pulls back and quips about being buzzed. He mentally adds her to his list of people to invite to one of his parties when he heads home. He tips his head back and gives a short little howl, like it's energy overflowing from his body.
🎲 awoo
[ 30. A kiss to the palm of the hand // canon-era hand wound healing ]
Pandreo hadn't been close enough to stop it - a Corrupted knight had struck the Divine One's sword hand (how much of a deliberate choice that was, Pandreo won't ever know, and doesn't want to). The blade - the very one that had belonged to Queen Lumera - clatters to the ground, bearing the stain of Alear's blood.
Someone else quickly dispatches the knight, and Pandreo is grateful, but the Divine One…he still tries to pick up the sword, wincing with his bent knees. In an instant Pandreo is by his side, breathless.
"Please, let me see," Pandreo pants, so adrenaline-fueled that he forgets his honorific. It's a clean slice across Alear's palm, dripping crimson, a twitch in restless fingers.
He'd asked, but…Pandreo can barely stand to look at it. He doesn't summon his staff, either; it's still small and concentrated enough that he can close this on his own.
Pandreo gently grasps Alear's wrist, steadying his open hand, focusing all of his energy and faith into the severed flesh. His shoulders drop slightly when light suffuses the cut, stitching it back together; the bloodstains remain, but the skin beneath his torn glove has neatly mended.
"There," Pandreo soothes, like they're in the quiet of the infirmary and not the tempest of a battlefield. He inspects his work, taking precious seconds that they don't have, but before he parts, he presses a quick kiss to the rip in the glove. Like a small prayer, like signing his work.
Hopefully he won't hear about this at the strategy meeting later.
🎲 ar arooo my brother in party
[ 40. An impulsive kiss // engage pre-canon ]
Nothing has ever made him feel more alive than this. His life before had been all alabaster walls and stern silences and dusty candelabras, and now it's vibrant. It's bright and messy and LOUD and Pandreo has never been happier.
And if it wasn't for Fogado - er, his Prince, no he said not to call him that, but, AH! - he'd still be stuck under that gloomy ceiling, with his mother's annotated scriptures, chastised for tapping his foot too loudly.
Fogado is sunshine made man, he is the stars and the moon and the sky that hangs them. He's always checking in with folks but never lingering too long. And for Pandreo, his smiles are the biggest, his howls are the loudest, and when he asks for a dance - heavens, Pandreo would be a fool to refuse.
He's never danced before, but his body thinks it knows how. His feet and his hips and his arms are all on their own tempo, and somehow none of them match what Fogado's doing. But Fogado never laughs or gawks. He closes in, he takes Pandreo's hands with that big smile that makes Pandreo want to weep for joy.
And gently, he guides, and they move together, and everything is warm. And then Fogado's hand is at Pandreo's lower back, Pandreo's on Foagdo's shoulder, and - his cheeks are flush and his vision is hazy and he's never been drunk but if it's anything like this maybe he would like one drink, please -
His mouth is on Fogado's before he's really thinking about it. And his next thought is that he wouldn't take it back. And the next is that he might lose his best friend.
He pulls back, mouth tingling, eyes wide. He's struck silent, waiting for Fogado to speak.
kiss roulette
inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear
A kiss on the cheek
A kiss on the nose
A kiss on the forehead
A kiss to the top of the head
A firm kiss
A gentle peck
A romantic kiss
A platonic kiss
A kiss to the eyelid
A kiss along the jawline
A kiss to the neck
A kiss along the collar bone
A kiss on the chest
A kiss to the stomach
A kiss along the hips
A kiss in the rain
An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss
A kiss while laughing
A kiss underwater
A rough kiss
WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)
A french kiss/kiss with tongue
A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances
A sleepy kiss
A kiss that's an accident
A kiss while one or both parties are crying
A kiss in greeting
A kiss in parting
A kiss to the back of the hand
A kiss to the palm of the hand
A kiss to the inner thigh
A kiss while someone watches
A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking
A kiss after a bite
A kiss against a wall
A kiss to the shoulder
A kiss to the back of the neck
A kiss while one party is carried
A tentative kiss
An impulsive kiss
A kiss out of spite
A clumsy kiss
A bloody kiss
man of dog
continued from here @hatariwildheart
Hold on. Hold on.
Something shines like a beacon through Pandreo's tears. This...this wolf can understand him, and speak to him.
It's like the answer to a prayer he didn't realize he was reciting. His logical brain jumps through hoops to justify what he's hearing, but...no. It has to be some kind of miracle, some kind of sign.
He has always believed humans to be extensions of gods, and therefore, for gods to take on human forms and attributes. This explains every dragon he's ever met, and he thinks it might gesture toward the few beastkin he's met here, too. Not to jump to conclusions, especially at an emotional low point, but...
Perhaps this wolf is a god!
Pandreo's breath shudders as he lifts his head from the wolf's tear-soaked fur. "Please forgive me if I've overstepped, or offended in any way," he chokes out. Quickly, his hands come together; he bows his head. "If I may be so bold, to an Exalted One such as yourself...it feels like I was fated to meet you, at exactly this moment. Have you been...searching for me?"
This was hardly the reaction Volug had expected. This human was far more exuberant than he had anticipated. Had Volug spoken incorrectly? Had he misunderstood something about the situation? Was his failure to fully grasp the common tongue coming back to bite him? He wouldn’t think this would be the sort of response he’d get from just a single word. This man was acting like Volug was some kind of divine being. He’d just stated that he was simply a wolf, had he not? Had the man not been listening?
"What?” Volug rasped, cocking his head to the side inquisitively. He probably ought not let his exasperation fully show. Doing so might make his little joke a bit too transparent. Better to pretend he had genuine, innocent confusion. Act like this was nothing at all, like he listened to people all day long but didn’t expect them to respond back to him.
“I do not think you could bother me,” Volug stated, staring directly at the man. “I deal with people all day who do not stop to listen to me. Why would I be upset you did?”
There it was. That was his out. Make it sound like genuine confusion and he could get away with this little charade quite easily. He wanted to try and get some kind of explanation out of the priest, but it would have to wait a moment. Volug was just an ordinary animal— at least, that was what he wanted Pandreo to believe. He needed to act the part just as he did for everyone else, just speaking aloud this time instead of remaining silent. It shouldn’t be that hard. He could be mostly honest about things. After all, it was indeed quite rare that anyone held much of a conversation with him, despite how many people Volug encountered in a day. Most of them just thought he was a dog, so why would they expect a response from him?
Okay, maybe Pandreo is putting the cart before the horse. He doesn't know for sure that the wolf is a god. There are plenty of other explanations, plenty of things he doesn't know about the world.
"You're a humble fellow, indeed," Pandreo says, voice low. His hand drops to the back of the wolf's neck again; he'd semed to like getting scritches. "Well, I'll always be around to listen to you. It must be lonely, being able to speak, and not being understood."
He looks into the wolf's big, understanding eyes. Is he projecting? No...he really was responding to Pandreo's words. So...
"I'm Pandreo," he continues. "I'm a priest of a...different sort, than most here. Just trying to fit in, I guess. I don't suppose you could tell me your name?"
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*dragging my singed and crispy body over to you* party at my place tonight?
non-mission board | restoration
Pandreo's breath is stuck somehwere between his thoat and his lungs. In all of his time as a priest, yes, he's heard a couple of murder confessions. It's an ugly amenity to the territory. But, this...
He struggles to find words. And then struggles to stay silent, because the longer he takes to respond, the further Fogado will grow closer to being swept away by despair.
He can't see Fogado. But he will grasp Fogado's hands with all of his middling strength, and no matter how hard the tides throw them, he will not let go.
"Fogado," Pandreo says, a sob made of hand-blown glass. "I...I can't say I've ever seen you pushed to your absolute limits, or that I know what I would do in the circumstances you were forced into."
(And what right does Pandreo have, to speak of pushing his own limits? He shut himself away where no danger could reach him. He was a coward. Fogado faced the devastation of the monastery's fall head-on because he's so much stronger than Pandreo will ever be.
But this moment is not about him. And he knows if Fogado hears him talking about how strong he is, at his lowest point, he might really break.)
"But I know who you are, to your core. I know the parts of you that can be molded, but will never change. And I'm here to remind you of them."
He pauses. Prays that those words are enough to cut through the worst of the briars growing over Fogado.
"Don't think for a second that I think any less of you," Pandreo continues, quashing that fear like a bug before it can be voiced. "Whatever you did, no matter how awful, it had to be done. I prayed...I prayed with everything in me that you would never have to face a warzone again." And I couldn't protect you from the scars it's left.
" what can be molded? what won't ever change? " his hands grow clammy and nervous, unfriendly to the thought of being touched. he knows that pandreo is only doing this to calm him, but fogado feels as though he ought to be burned by touching this light. he's a liar and a sinner and someone who just can't be taken seriously; his faithful friend knows that something is wrong, but he can never know just how much. " i'd do anything if it meant keeping you, keeping bunet, keeping timerra n' mom n' solm safe. anything. i'll change myself if that's what it takes.
" i did what i would do then. i'd do it again. and the fact that i would---that i know what it feels like and that i don't care---makes me wanna puke! " pressure turns to strain turns to sandpaper, and fogado feels that horrible burning of tears singing his sinuses. " i know that it's just for the sake of everyone else, and i'm okay with that. but... i don't know how to say it. i don't.
" i'm so selfish. all my life, dad told me how to hide my identity. he told me to suppress everything for the sake of solm, and i did it. here i am, only doing what he's told me to do. " his arms begin to shake as do his hands, but he makes no effort to correct himself. there's just something so easy about not being able to see what kind of expression pandreo's making right now. if it's pity, if it's fear, if it's disgust, maybe if it's nothing at all, fogado doesn't have to see it. " being secret is important to me. it's important to everyone! "
his voice rises, steam leaping from its rusted kettle, and it burns hotter and quicker with the seconds that pass. fogado has dropped his mask and cannot seem to pick it back up again.
" i know i'm a monster because of that. i know, i know, i know! " he sobs, suddenly, the sound muffled through his hands over his face. " but now nobody'll want to really know me, because they'll just... they'll see how bad i really am! " his mind flashes back to how stiff dorothea had been, one of his best friends at this monastery, when her partner chose to end that dying beggar's life. surely she would balk just the same at fogado, were she to learn the things he's done. it's things like that, horrible conjecture and thoughts of what’s out of his control, that keep fogado on the edge.
is it so evil of him to sit up late at night, staring at the ceiling while he imagines himself in the embrace of a lover? is it sinful to pretend he's got a shot at a peaceful, happy life with all of its quiet moments ready to share? it sure feels that way---why would he give himself hope for something that just can't happen? " i'll always be stuck a horrible monster because i just can't get myself to pull away from that. i just...! i just wish someone could love me, even how i am, half as much as i love the world...! "
Pandreo is thankful that Fogado can't hear his heart shattering. His own tears have begun to fall, but at the moment, Pandreo could care less. He rolls up his sleeves, digs his nails into his skin as a tether to the earth. Digs deep to find something, anything that can act as a tourniquet.
"When I first saw you in our little flock," Pandreo begins quietly, just loud enough to be heard over Fogado's quiet sobs, "I knew you would be special to me. And it had nothing to do with your bloodline, or what you'd do under duress. You have this...light in you, Fogado. And it makes everybody's burdens lighter, just by being in the same room with you."
That's not gonna cut it; not by half. But Pandreo's barely begun.
"You just...instinctively always know what everybody needs. If something's on their mind, if they're not having fun...I may be a priest, but all of that interpersonal stuff? I didn't learn it from Mom, Foge, I learned it from you."
There might be a little fracture in the wall at best, but...nothing more. It's okay. He's not going to fix this with a wave of a hand.
"I've always known you'd do whatever was necessary, no matter how dirty your hands got. That's what being a Sentinel's all about, yeah? But I wasn't brave enough to dirty my hands, unless it was an order from the Divine One."
It's...a slip. He might get chastised for indirectly calling Fogado brave, but he forges on. Nothing more about himself. "The most wonderful, unfallible part of you, Fogado, is how much you love the world. But I'll tell you here and now, you never have to love it alone."
I was an idiot to leave your side. Forgive me. Some of this baggage should be mine.
[ ♫ ] ─ * 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫
cupido bash mini | continued from x:
it suddenly makes sense why he and fogado would get along so well. that sunny disposition, which exudes the warmth of springtime, the lack of a barrier that'd make a person feel as though they were held at arm's length…
she lets out an interested hum.
there were secrets fogado had shared—things most weren't privy to—and it was clear that, for all his friendliness, there was a certain type of person he gravitated toward. she couldn't help but wonder what he saw in this pandreo, beyond the obvious, in layers still to be peeled back and studied.
but that's neither here nor there.
"is that so? i'll admit, i haven't heard nearly as much about you." it’s a tease, but still wrapped in truth. the man indulges, at least, and that's something. "if i didn't know any better, i'd think fogado wanted to save me the surprise."
her tone is light, spirits high—a good conversation never hurt anyone.
"church service?" dorothea repeats. “huh. i didn’t take him for the religious type.”
"did you know he was a prince at the time? he kept that fact a secret from me until recently." she laughs good-naturedly. "he's one of the more eccentric royals i've met, but i wouldn’t change a thing about him. more princes could afford to be like him."
@party-pri3st
Pandreo flushes. Well, at least that cat's out of the bag. "Ahaha, I didn't! He doesn't disclose that fun fact very readily, as you might've noticed."
He can see now, looking into her eyes, knowing what she knows, that Fogado truly trusts her. That tells him just about everything he needs to know.
"Amen to that, sister," Pandreo agrees, deciding to get rowdy before he can get wistful. "Fogado's just about the best guy I know. They don't get much better. And I'm so glad he's had someone like you around."
The energy takes him, the lights and the dancing and the joy of his good friends having good friends. Praying that he doesn't scare her away, he raises his arms, swaying to some rhythm that nobody else can feel. Really, whoever calls this a dance of darkness just doesn't get it. Expressions of joy are not always pretty - like the way he'd ugly-sobbed when he first hugged Fogado after the fall.
"Dorothea," he calls to her, spinning around her in a slow circle, "I'd like to ask you to do something very special with me. Something to honor Fogado, and this bangin' party, and everyone who made it back in one piece. It might be a little weird, but just trust me, okay?"
He wonders what her mind is conjuring, if she's preparing for something far more embarrassing. Pandreo doesn't waste any more time; every impulse he's held back for two months comes coursing through his veins. Arms still raised in the air, he throws his head back, fills his lungs, and -
"AR-AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
