victory song

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧. Petra waits outside a small café next to a bright red building—the only other thing that could be picked out from a thick haze at a glance. 

          She takes out her pocket watch watching as the little thing made a soft clicking before tucking it away for the nth time. She was a little early to her meeting spot, but she hoped it would be done sooner rather than later. Her hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat, and she exhaled to watch her breath condensate. She had sorely wished she had brought a hat today, maybe even gloves.

          Petra was not from here originally; it had only been a year since she had accepted the position and promptly moved as a result. For geographically a small place, she was surprised at how many differences in people there were here. Some accents were more difficult to understand than others, but she was sure that being a foreigner here, the locals could say the same for her.

          The lady she was to meet held the name of her homeland, a bit odd she thinks, but not entirely so. She had met a duchess with the name London after all.

          The case was a bit of an odd one in that she didn’t know much about it at all. Nor did she really know the person she’d be working with. ( She had to pay her rent here and other living commodities didn’t come free even if you are a detective with some weight behind your name. ) So, the only thing she could do now was wait.

          As soon as she decides to sit down at one of the tables perched in front of the café, she stands just as quickly, relieved to see the lady at last. A pleased and warm smile comes across her features despite her frozen hands. She extends one regardless. “Petra Macneary,” she introduces herself but wonders if it was even necessary since they at least knew that much. She nods toward the shop, “Let us sit inside and we can start discussing the case with a warm cup of tea.”

- Grishaverse au; the petra-inej pipeline, do u see my vision - Pokémon/modern/pirate/secret agent/??? au; I honestly don't have as concrete of an idea for this one but fun nd easy option esp if you don't know the verse too well - Isekai au; a lot of muses get brought to Fódlan for various reasons but what if we went to your muse's homeland for whatever reason

(Somewhat of a continuation of this drabble)

One.

          The ship is much larger than what she is used to. She could hardly feel the waves and smelled more gunpowder smoke and whiskey than she did of the sea salt and brine. Petra never felt seasickness, but each passing moment spent on the ship makes her nauseous. She made sure not to surface where the others were unless absolutely necessary. Besides, she had fallen ill with chills and a fever despite her previous record of youthful immunity to small colds. Curled up in a blanket from home below everyone, she shivered and cursed the sailors, perhaps she crossed paths with one contaminated, but that was not quite the case. 

          She is delivered pale and sick when she lands finally and requires a couple more days of bedrest. She wants to refuse treatment as the last tea they had given her on the ship tasted bitter and she would be loath to accept anything from the hands who took her in the first place. 

          When she is finally recovered, she finds herself to be more prickly and bitter than the tea they gave her. Petra is introduced to a small cabin isolated from the rest of the Empire strictly for the purpose of teaching and housing her. 

Two.

          When most people learned a new language, some of the first words were basic necessities and pleasantries such as “hello,” “my name is,” and “how are you,”. “Listen,” “no,” and “savage girl” were Petra’s. The instructor she had been assigned was an uptight lady with every inch of her skin beyond her hands and face covered and wore a gray bun tighter than her attitude. Along with her was an interpreter who only had a conversationally basic grasp on translating between the two. Their names were Isolde and Lind respectively.

          Each day, Petra would be sat at a creaky wooden table and chair with a book of text to read yet had no comprehension of. Next, Isolde would write the Fódlan’s alphabet on the chalkboard then random words, sounding them out in her thick accent. Despite their interpreter, it was difficult on both ends to communicate. Lessons would end in a similar fashion as they began, rolling eyes and exasperated groans from Isolde and furrowed brows and huffs of frustration from Petra. 

          She was resistant at first to even learn the language, it was not one she had interest in making a part of her. If Isolde called her names with equal value to an animal, then an animal she would be. A wolf baring her teeth at its captors and growling when they got near. She wanted them to fear her, but only resentment was the outcome. She delighted herself in imagining one day she would snap and bite.

          Petra’s resistance was futile though. Each week, she would write her grandfather letters describing her experience in this place and how she misses home dearly, hoping he might take pity on her and finally retrieve her from this place. She was no fool though, her letters were inspected by Lind to make sure they weren’t secretly plotting something to fight back. A wolf couldn’t bite if its snout was muzzled. 

          The letters she received were nothing of which she was expecting. He would express disappointment rather than pity. They must have been sending letters of their own about her slow progression. He would write back the importance of this exchange and how much of Brigid’s future was on her shoulders. It upset her to read to the point of her not reading them all together then she wrote no more to him. She thinks back to those times and how he might have pleaded with them to give her another chance over and over again. The younger version of herself would have hated that he knelt to them at all, but the younger version of herself hated disappointing and disconnecting herself from her last living relative more. 

          Her fire was snuffed for now and she began to obey. She would quietly rebel in her own way, sounding out each vowel and consonant in her head and in lessons, she would hardly respond to any of the instructor’s questions. Nights were spent reading some of the material she had been provided instead of trashing the room and crying over a life that was long gone. The language was picked up quite rapidly and she even found herself reaching for more from the shelf long after lessons had ended in the middle of the night. More surprisingly, she found a shift in her heart for the culture she was immersing herself in. 

Three. 

          She only had a few weeks left of her fourteenth year and she was enrolled in The Officer’s Academy for the upcoming year. Progression from a stubborn child to a mature young adult had been a slow one at first. She had always aligned herself with the wolf for its strength to hunt, but in the past few years, she had grown more independent of this narrow way of thinking. Of course, she still admires the same symbols from her culture. She embraces it and her situation in a different light. So, in this way, her actions and mannerisms must reflect that of her home. Rather than baring her teeth and on alert by anyone who comes near, she holds herself with poise and strength that echoes her father and grandfather. Patience had been a steady and long lesson, but she wears it like a sigil of protection for battle.

Status: Pass / Fail / Hiatus

Skill Points:

Earned: 1

Previous: 22

Current: 23

Skill point(s) allocated to bow: C → B (1/2)

Completed / dropped threads:

Status: Pass / Fail / Hiatus

Skill Points:

Earned: 2

Previous: 20

Current: 22

Skill point(s) allocated to bow: C → C+ (2/2)

Completed / dropped threads:

extenebris​:

Everything leading to the moment his arrow hit the target’s bullseye had suggested that the gamemaster would attempt to swindle his customers out of their gold, so Salem expects protests when Petra requests access to the exclusive prizes. And indeed the man looks like he wants to try. Salem eyes him wordlessly, but eventually the merchant lowers his head and withdraws a box to set on the counter. 

As Petra sifts through the collection of stuffed animals, Salem peers of her shoulder to see her choice: an odd rodent-like creature he has never seen before. Perhaps a stylized mouse, whose features had been exaggerated to better sell to the children the game was intended for, but before Salem can open his mouth to ask, he’s stopped by the unmistakable thunk of another arrow lodging solidly into the target’s face. He glances toward it - a certain bullseye - and then to the dumbfounded gamemaster. A small smile lifts one corner of his mouth, temporarily lifting his ordinarily dour expression. At Petra’s behest, Salem peers once more into the box and selects a large aquatic-looking creature (a whale, he would later learn) before a new rule or excuse can stop him. They had paid for three arrows, after all, and against the odds, two of them were winners.

“If the game is designed fairly, you ought be less surprised when a player wins,” Salem says to the merchant before turning his back on the booth to survey what remains of the festival that they had yet to see. He follows Petra a few paces away and then lets his smile come unfettered.

“That was rather… fun,” he says after a moment, as if testing the word. His eyes fall to his new prize. It wasn’t practical, nor did it have any true monetary value, but he had already decided a place to display it in his room so that he could remember this night whenever he looked at it.

“𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬. Imagine beyond physical growth, we could be recording all kinds of,” she makes a gesture with her hands, waving them around a bit, “things with this!”

          She tilts her head. Someone... he knows? She supposed it wasn’t uncommon for there to be people like her, but part of her wonders if that was supposed to be a good or bad thing. He continues spouting more words that made little sense. She had an even head? 

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐳 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝... 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐲. It seemed she was still trying to remember it while also teaching. ( Some say that is the best way to learn, though, through tutelage of others. ) Petra makes no verbal remark of this but watches with fascination. 

          When it is time to practice with her, she follows Larcei’s lead, careful not to step on toes and waiting patiently as her partner walks her through the steps. They spin and repeat a couple of times, but overall it seemed manageable. 

[ Hoshido ] - A synchronized dance that must be done by two people. To a slow and gentle melody, the pair moves with fluid purpose, evoking the image of a crane in flight.

Soren was getting out of breath, so a slower song suited him better. He found himself face to face with Petra as the melody began. Moving like the wind was something he should be able to do.

“You aren’t from Adrestia, if I recall. Do you have any celebration traditions from home?” Part small talk, part genuine curiosity about a place nearby that was academically so neglected Soren could barely find a decent tome on it.

𝐈𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭, 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 similarities in the amount of control the dancers must have to create proper formations. Observing it from afar was much easier than their attempt at it firsthand. She was enjoying it nonetheless, occasionally glancing at more professional looking dancers to either side of them and fixing her own movements as they continued.  

          “You recall correctly, Soren.” She hums, eyes darting away for a moment. “On Brigid, we are having traditions similar to this—dancing, feasting, but mostly outside. My words are nothing compared to seeing it yourself.” 

[ Improvise ] - The sender doesn’t know how this dance goes and tries to improvise, dragging the receiver along the way.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠. Bernadetta voluntarily dancing and to her own beat? Petra stands aside and watches, nodding in approval at first before she attempts to join in. The spin and hand movements were nothing like she’s seen before tonight, but somehow were still on beat. Maybe Bernadetta had already rehearsed this routine.

          “This has... uniqueness, but...” Petra follows along to the best of her ability, “I am impressed at your leadership and improvisions.”

[ Whisper ] - The sender leans in, whispering something for the receiver’s ears only.

As Edelgard dances with Petra, she speaks in a rather hushed tone- The question is for Petra alone to hear. "How are you finding the ball, Petra? Enjoying yourself, I hope?"

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥? 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞— 𝐎𝐡. 𝐎𝐡.

          “Ah, yes!” She answers a bit too enthusiastically, but that could hardly be helped. Much quieter and calmer now, she nods and continues, “I am learning much about other cultures’ dances as well. It is fortunate to have so many students from all over the world share a part of their homeland with us. And you? Are you enjoying yourself?”

[ Dip ] - The sender boldly and dramatically dips the receiver down. Don’t drop them!

𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬. She had only seen Celica on campus, but hadn’t spoken to her much outside of a basic introduction to the recent transfer. 

          They had been dancing a traditional waltz and the music was beginning to build up. Celica had plans to lower her which she wouldn’t oppose verbally. However, her face said different. She had no ill intent in judging the redhead’s physique, but the mention of the move left her a little anxious apparent by the furrow in her brows and shifting of her eyes.

diadic​:

    “ Fishing…! Of course! ”  Leif’s eyes go wide.  “ I hadn’t thought about it, but that’s a good lure. We can definitely find a way to catch him there! Let’s go!! ”  

Off he bolts towards the pond, bringing Petra along with him. The area is not busy today, not many more people than the man who offers fishing poles and the duo themselves. Keeping his eyes peeled, Leif scours their surroundings.

“ There! ”  Leif points to where their quarry is ambling around. His voice startles the feline however, and it scurries off again, up the stairs leading towards the dorm rooms of the nobility.  “ Damn it, I did that, huh… But it looks like your hunch was right. We can still get him! ”

𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬. He seemed full of energy to catch this cat which was amusing in its own right. However, it almost seemed like she was chasing him rather than the cat. 

          The pond was luckily not crowded leaving little places for the cat to hide. The air was still and quiet. Her eyes dart around for their missing feline when Leif points it out. He was ready to get a drink or maybe lay in the sun a while ( it was a nice day for a cat to do so ) but is promptly startled.