LINKS: self • stat • bond • uniform • mun + guidelines • thread tracker
PORTRAYAL NOTES
Maria is a from a couple years after FE12. At the time of her arrival at Garreg Mach, she was 15, and some years have passed since.
Generally speaking, she will recognize muses from FE11, but not those from FE12 (though she may have heard of them from closely affiliated allies).
Being someone whose reply times fluctuate, I don't mind waiting on replies and will not consider a thread dropped unless you tell me! However, if a year or more passes, I'll probably check in with you.
You can find my thread tracker for all muses here!
"And at night you will look up at the stars. Where I live everything is so small that I cannot show you where my star is to be found. It is better, like that. My star will just be one of the stars, for you. And so you will love to watch all the stars in the heavens . . . they will all be your friends. And, besides, I am going to make you a present . . ."
He laughed again.
"Ah, little prince, dear little prince! I love to hear that laughter!"
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As the academic year comes to a close, one too many people have been caught participating in what the Church has been calling ‘unscrupulous’ behavior. An initiative to reform detention into “something that actually works” is underway: a model faculty member or student is paired with a 'problem person’ in the monastery, and the two are magically bound, forced to hold hands for a whole week straight. The close proximity to a good example and threat of being caught in a loop of new handlers every week are theorized to be just what is needed to “fix” these troublemakers. Hope for your own sake that the bound hand isn’t your dominant one…
Now, if ever there was a hard sell, it was convincing students to volunteer to be magically bound to what the somewhat desperate-looking faculty had then described as 'unscrupulous troublemakers'. Of the few they'd gathered up and flattered as 'model students' and 'perfect examples of good behavior', not a one of them had looked remotely enthused by the idea, no matter how much praise came with it.
Maria had been the first to raise her hand then, a social enough creature to not find it quite as objectionable -- and, more importantly, a soft enough heart to offer her hand as the cleric's expression grew increasingly more stressed.
Literally, in a sense. The little princess wiggles the fingers of the hand she'd held out then, loosely curled over the palm of another girl about her age. Over their joined hands, a professor silently casts a spell, then steps back and levels them both with a stern stare.
"From now through the next seven days, the two of you will be bound together, briefly released for a few small exceptions. I expect you--" He nods at Maria. "--to adhere to this honorably. You should know--" His gaze flips then to the green-haired girl. "--there will be a punishment should you fail to do so. Of course, you will be duly rewarded for a success."
He frowns, dismissing them as he turns to leave.
"That is all. Be on your way."
His footsteps fade down the hall, and of course, what else is Maria to do but look at her new friend? Rosy-hued eyes flit first and foremost to the girl beside her, bright and curious, free hand lightly touching her chin. Then--
"Hee hee!" It would be just terrible to start the week on a sour note, wouldn't it? And it's truly such a strange situation that she can but laugh and make all the best of it. "Well, it's nice to meet you! I'm Maria! What's your name?"
"Thank you, too!" Maria returns her gratitude with a lilt as playful as it is sincere. "For allowing me to style your hair! Hee hee... it's been a while since I've gotten to -- it was really fun!"
A peal of delighted laughter falls across the barrette Sanaki presents then, a hand loosely lingering by her mouth as if to catch it, but not really. The great fun of styling is so often a fortune bestowed upon those with long hair that she is caught quite by surprise.
"My turn?" There's an evident curl in the cleric's voice as she reaches back to lightly brush her fingers through her hair. She hadn't been quite as storm-drenched as Sanaki, but it certainly bears a bit of the playfulness of wind and water. With a hummed note, her eyes flutter shut in contemplation.
"Hmm... maybe... pulled toward the back, like this?" A fingertip traces backward, pushing aside her bangs and gingerly pulling them to the center of her skull. "It'll really pop right there, don't you think?"
It's nice, having someone else do her hair. As they chat, as her hair is tidied and her bangs are pulled away from her face, she realizes it has been far longer than she'd thought since someone else did this for her. Her chin settles on her fingertips, her lips against her knuckles, the line of her smile tangled with a bit of warmth and heartache.
"Thank you," she repeats, more softly as she catches Sanaki's eyes in the mirror. "Hee hee... this makes me really happy. But--" A sparkle catches in her eye, teeth bared in a mirthful, crescent smile. "--have you gotten to have any of the sweet treats yet? Oh, Sanaki, they have so many flavors! Lots of them are good for mixing, and--" A laugh. "--lots of them are good for sharing, too!"
Before Sanaki agrees, she takes one final glance at the two of them in the mirror, standing side by side.
With her hair pulled back and her smile not quite so naively bright, it’s far easier to see how Maria could share features with her stern and severe siblings. There’s a sharpness to the corners of her eyes and the cut of her jaw that — if one were to squint — could read as cruel, given a different demeanor and context.
While Sanaki’s bangs frame her face in harsh, unforgiving lines, Maria’s instead soften and round it. So much is conveyed in the manner people choose to present themselves. Isn’t a ball precisely the right place to try a different way of doing so?
… And not the right place to mope around, one would hope. Sanaki turns away, before she looks for too long and reminds herself of a kinder pair of amber eyes, impossibly similar and different all at once.
“Excuse me, how did you know I like sweets? Do I really just look like that kind of person?” The sharp remark is tempered by a roll of her eyes and an amused, begrudging nod. “...Still, I suppose it can't hurt to take a look. Maria, won't you lead the way?”
When they leave the room, their reflections will, too. But Sanaki knows — she will have left something behind, all the same.
Industrious and effervescent, even when her own ghosts threatened to rear their heads over her - Maria did not appear troubled, necessarily, but Raven knew the faraway look as well as he knew his own face, and his hands stilled for a moment, unwilling to break the gossamer thread of memory before she was ready to let it go.
“Ah…thank you.”
There was a quiet that settled on them then, as they worked, digging into the earth that was in parts soft, in parts cracked, in parts sludge, to relinquish the hold that sorrow had on what might still be living, or what might yet live, if given the opportunity.
“Peppermint is brave,” he said finally, canting his head. His expression was not entirely one of mirth, but one who knew him well might have recognized a cast of amusement. “To grow in a greenhouse, I mean. They’re aggressive, domineering. Just as like to kill its neighbors as it is to lighten up your teacup.”
His own mother had grown some, he remembered - or had she? Was it another plant? There was not exactly the press of cool mint against the back of his throat, that he remembered, and it slowly dawned on him that his memory of the greenhouses was faded, that its layout in his mind had begun to overlap more and more with what once had been Garreg Mach’s nursery, but for the smell.
They did not smell the same, not with his mother’s perfume, not with the waft of rain just outside the doors.
“When-” Raven stilled, swallowed around the crack in his voice. “When was the last time you went home?”
"Do you think so?" Maria pauses in her digging to blink at him, wobbly-browed and thoughtful. It had always seemed so gentle to her, in all the ways it soothed. Then again, they had always been rather exacting in its tending and containment, she supposes, and that curiosity turns into a laugh she catches in her hand. "Well, Macedonians are brave, too! Hee hee... If anyone's stubborn enough, it would be us!"
Never ones to take the easy path on the road to necessity. Was that also a form of pride? Maybe they could change that too one day, even if such change arrived through someone else's hands.
"What do you think of the other plants, Raymond?" Pressing her palm against the earth, she tamps it down with the other, a silent wish for the laughter of today to take root and grow into the joy of tomorrow. It fits nicely in the dimple of soil left by the plants more stubborn than their neighbors, but no match for a Macedonian princess's hand. "Do you have a favorite?"
Or... perhaps she shouldn't have asked that. Even were it not for the sentence started over again, there is something in the way he shapes his silences that plucks at her attention. Just the same way, there is so much room inside them that Maria thinks she is meant to keep her eyes on what they've come here to save.
"Hmm... I was... six, I think!" Though it wasn't so much a last return as a first departure, and a little girl not understanding why her brother wouldn't meet her eyes. But... it doesn't feel quite right. Something else whispers in the back of her mind, a memory far more blotchy and unpolished, one made only marginally less so by remembering. "--oh! No, that's not right. I went back for a little bit when I was, hmm... eleven, too. Maybe twelve...?"
Fingers idly sift through the dirt.
"That's my fault, though -- I've had a few chances to go back since then, but... hee hee. I guess I wanted it to stay the way I remembered it for a little bit longer. And I was busy, anyway!"
An excuse to do a little more, hmm? Nodding at his client's decision, Shigure sets the sketches to the side, putting in its place a blank card in earnest. He had long ago chosen to dispense with underpaintings and pencil guides, and it is with a casual decisiveness that he sets ink directly on paper now, for what could be the final piece.
Still, if it turns out poorly, he can always start anew. In that sense, drawings are far more forgiving than people are.
The lines ought to be sharp, he knows. So they flow from a nib pen instead of a brush, to retain the spirit of a woman who has, in Maria's own words, met her lifetime quota (!) for being imposing. Even if she is almost smiling here, angular eyes looking off to the side.
"I can understand wanting to wait for a specific day," he interrupts his own humming. A hesitation of the pen, and the woman on the page softens her brows, just a little more. "And I think you also know that some people are a little more guarded than you are, Maria. Why..." he teases, with a quiet laugh, "...I only managed to finish my first portrait of my parents for a special occasion, too."
And he had found it so difficult, far more so than these commissions he's doing now. How was that possible, when he had allowed himself more time and better materials, possessed a far better knowledge of his references?
He pauses to pass a critical eye over his progress, keeping the melancholy at bay. The answer's obvious, isn't it?
"It takes a lot of bravery to be honest about how you feel." The pen resumes its languid stroll on the page. "If any little extra thing --- the chocolates, the cards --- can make it easier, then it's only right to offer to help, don't you think?"
It's fascinating, the way Minerva's expression shifts with each stroke of the pen. Often subtly, but that is not so different from the Minerva she knows. From an outsider's perspective-- dare she say an audience!-- the process seems almost like a conversation, the pen set to paper like a dialogue, and the wax and wane of each line its intonation. A good conversation, too, seeing the way the Minerva of the page softens her expression, and Maria can but giggle at that.
"Hee hee..." And she giggles again, a finger pointing accusatorially at the portrait of her big sister, though her lopsided grin thoroughly shears the gesture of any scorn. "Did she tell you that I used to get scolded for that?" Ah, but if she has the privilege of the confidence, of the security of self, of a world still cast in roses rather than jade -- well, doesn't it just make sense to leave wide the gates of her heart?
Was he very nervous then? The little cleric's chin stretches forward in interest, balanced on her fingertips, yet the question falls away unasked.
"I bet it was beautiful," Maria whispers her wager instead, a mirthful sparkle in her eyes. Yet in the next moment she leans back again, nodding emphatically, strands of crimson bouncing about her shoulders.
"Yeah! I think so, too! I think there are lots of people who just need a little push. Sometimes they need encouragement, and sometimes... that push is thinking about how happy someone else would be." A pause there, to turn to one side, as if shielding Shigure from the shower of her laughter. "And sometimes it's a secret third thing!"
Her smile takes on a curious curl, rosy eyes flitting between the artist and his artwork. ("Oh," she murmurs between thoughts, pointing again -- this time toward a small thing, an insignificant and sole suggestion. "Her eye always creases a little bit extra right... here.")
"Does it have anything to do with the misunderstanding you talked about before?" He can't just tease her with a story like that and then move on! (Or, well, he can, and she's very grateful to him regardless, but her poor curiosity has already been stoked!)
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His frame of reference for others has grown and yet he still finds himself thinking the same thought. She reminds him of Rowan in that moment, the way the young Aytolian would run up to him with dirt caked on every part of him just to drag Darios along to see the first blooms of the season. How he even got to be so dirty is something Darios still questions to this day but would he truly be Rowan if he didn't?
A small gasp leaves him as a smile settles. The flower is gratefully taken and he hums as he tucks it just above his ear.
Of course at their secret, he covers his mouth and chuckles. "For a special occasion indeed yes?"
"I believe since its that hour, there should be some cookies and cakes ripe for the taking as well. I was thinking we'd try one of the teas that's a bit milder today. It's best to save the sweeter, fruitier, ones for when it gets a bit colder."
"Cookies and cakes?" The young princess giggles as she dusts off her skirt, clung to by specks of earth from all her different roosts. "If I'd known earlier, I could've baked them myself!"
But the market will have to do for now, though it's hard to call that a loss. After all, Maria has extensively researched the sweet treats on offer, and after all of this has come to a conclusion of tremendous satisfaction.
"What kind of cookies and cakes do you like, Darios?" With one final brush, her skirt fans out behind her as they tread the familiar path past the gardens. "I like... hmm!"
Will he tell her if he knows her favorites first, though? She turns her gaze toward him from the corners of her eyes, knowing and playful.
"You first," she insists through a laugh. "I'll tell you one of my favorites for every one of yours!"
here’s the thing: one knows what to expect of scoundrels. they’ll lie to save their own skin, betray their once-friends at the drop of a hat, and most of them won’t ever think twice about it. they’re easier to deal with in that way. at the end of every road, you know that the other shoe is waiting to drop. either you catch it or let it fall.
drawing closer to maria, they stop just short of sitting, instead twisting to lean back against the wall with a sigh. throughout their years, yuri has learned there is one thing they can always trust in this world: people are essentially selfish. so when maria says, i’m right here, the scariest part of it is its truth.
it doesn’t take a doctor to tell they’re sick and it doesn’t take a genius to know with what. they just tilt their head and direction and smile, a somber glint in their gaze. yuri knows she’s telling the truth. it would be easier if they didn’t.
“why don’t you ask?” is what they say in lieu of any confession—though it may as well be one in and of itself, in that strange way that yuri never says the things they mean. would they tell her anything if she did? honestly, they’re not even sure. “a strange boy appears from nowhere. you don’t know where he’s come from, only that he’ll disappear again and all you’ll be able to do is wait for him to come back.”
their gaze falls to the ground. “and you never ask him a single thing about it.”
"Why...?" He doesn't pretend this time, doesn't hide shaky breaths in shallow sips or lock his coughs away in a chest held stiff. It isn't that she wanted him to feel like he had to keep up the charade, but there's still sorrow to be found in watching it fall away, knowing what it had hidden and that it had been there at all.
Why don't you ask? --would he answer if she did? And just how many years had it taken him to tell her his favorite sort of cake, again? Maria presses the backs of her knuckles against her lips, but she cannot hide their curl, nor the soft affection that searches for that glint of somberness.
"Hmm..." Her hand pulls away from her face, just a bit. "Well, it's easier for you if I don't, right? And besides, my questions aren't that important." It doesn't take a wealth of thought to realize that Yuri keeps a lot of secrets.
"Plus even if you didn't answer, you'd remember that I asked, wouldn't you? People remember the things they don't do." Right -- how many years had it taken him to tell her his favorite sort of cake, again? At least two or three, if she recalls correctly. And Yuri had remembered. (Of course, she cannot claim it was without annual help, but even then.) There are enough things in this world to pile up and weigh them down without questions she doesn't need the answers to.
"I already know the things I need to. I know that that strange boy helps strange girls who are too short to fetch their ribbons, and that he can forgive her when she steps on his toes; I know that he looks for cats for crying children, and--" Pulling back her sleeve, she reveals a flash of silver worn dutifully and daily. "--I know that he's my friend. I know that he'll find me when he needs to, and maybe even when he doesn't."
A hum. Her heel pivots absentmindedly against the wall, right to left and left to right.
"...Do you want to know something about disappearing brothers, Yuri? They think you think about the places they go without you, and all the things you haven't done." Maria shifts in her seat there, a hand placed by each knee as she leans forward, leans in, and whispers: "But the truth is, you think about if they're lonely, if they're hurt -- if there's something you can do for them when you see them again."
Holding their gaze again, Maria smiles. "You just think about how you miss them. You just want them to be happy. You just care about them anyways. Always. And... I don't think strange boys are too different from that."
There's about two extra pieces of parchment in this envelope, too. It's because each memory and drawing gets an attentive little comment, fun plant fact, or doodle in return. In fact, one of the new doodles seems to be on the stranger side. It comes with some depiction of...a bee in its cavity? Or is it a fly?
To my new friend Maria,
It's not too much at all—as long as I can ask for your favorites, too! Maybe I can bake some of those for tea? As for me, Sweet Bun Trio is probably my favorite... it goes great with a cup of Albinean Berry Blend! But I also like fruit tarts, cheesecakes, sorbets... Most sweets are fine (I'm much pickier with regular food, and sometimes I might sneak the things I don't like onto a friend's plate) but you can't go wrong with chocolate or strawberry. And—
!!! [some flowers, some sparkles, all bouncing around the margins here] That makes me feel so much better!!!!! [yes, there are precisely as many exclamation points] You have no idea, really. And from the sound of it, it seems like you're really good at talking to people. [another little doodle of Maria's head here, smiling sweetly, with a few more exclamation points by her] I think I know why.
Me, I'm usually terrified of it. [a flower ✿ , presumably a headshot of the writer, and there are gloomy squiggles scribbled around it] I even get a little anxious when I get letters from back home. I'll write back and all, just not so much about the things I like.
But you know, I haven't been feeling that way at all when I see yours. Instead... I'm really happy, too! [the same flower ✿ , and now it's rife with little sparkles around it - moreover, it is painted a watercolor purple this time] You're just as kind as I remember. Whether I'm reading the words you send me or looking at the pictures you draw, it's like the world feels a little warmer to be in. A little less scary, even. Is that weird? Sorry if that's weird. Anyway!
What I mean is that I might not mind going to Macedon after all. Whether the people are stern or kind, I already got to meet you, didn't I? I know we haven't even had tea together yet, but I already feel lucky to be your friend. Please don't change your mind once you meet me, promise? (Just kidding!!) [yet this is hastily scribbled, squeezed into the margins in like a last-minute addition]
Your new friend (!), ✿
P.S. Yeah! That's exactly it! In that case, I'm already looking forward to reading and celebrating with you—sweets and all. If you're bringing some, I'll definitely bring some too, OK?
P.S.S. You know, I actually don't know. Maybe there's some sort of super-secret network of them... or not. But wouldn't that make for a neat story idea, too?
P.S.S.S. Would you also mind if we choose a time that isn't too crowded? I can get a little overwhelmed if it's noisy. But if not, that's OK. I have a little hood that I can put on just for that. [a primitive doodle of said hood]
Yet again, two extra pieces of parchment, though only one of them bears Maria's recreations of her penpal's doodles, littered with questions and comments-in-turn; of note is a comment next to the plant with a bee: What's this one? I've never seen anything like it!
The other paper? It's folded inward, with writing on the back exclaiming: Open after reading! ✿
Dear my friend ✿,
Sweet Bun Trio? Oh, I love having those at the Ethereal Ball every year! I've never tried making them myself, but it seems really fun! There's lots of room to play with decoration, don't you think? Fruit tarts, cheesecakes, sorbets, and Albinean Berry Blend... I'll remember it all! As for me, I really like lemon poppy cake, Sweet-Apple Blend, and things with strawberry jam, but I also like trying lots and lots of new things! Actually, I'm pretty happy eating anything, but I'm happiest when I get to eat with someone else! (So don't worry about being sneaky, okay? My plate is always open!)
(in between the two paragraphs is a drawing of Maria wielding a fork-sword (quite valiantly), vegetables above and flowers below, smudged with color; she doesn't draw attention to it, but one of the purple flowers is the closest behind her)
I always do my best! And I know I keep saying this, but that makes me really happy! I guess talking to you just makes me happy a lot, huh? The evidence is just irrefutable! And no, that doesn't sound weird! Actually it makes a lot of sense to me! Letters are something you can keep even when the people that sent them are far away, right? We put little bits and pieces of our hearts into them so that our feelings can reach each other even when we can't! So if my letters make things a little warmer and a little less scary, then they're doing just what they're supposed to do!
(the further down the letter one goes, the more drawings of flowers, candies, butterflies, and plants... one among them strangely smiling at what appears to be a bee? the colors this time are softer, brighter, with many splotches of color to be found in slightly smudged fingerprints stippling the page)
Oh! I just had an idea -- what about this? I can order some things from Macedon, like treats and seeds and little things! If we share them, then if we ever go to Macedon together, it'll be a little bit more familiar, won't it?
But even if that doesn't work, (the handwriting shifts slightly here, a princess's most proper penmanship on full display)
I, Maria von Medon, promise that meeting you won't change my mind.
(--and then back to normal again) Well, not unless I feel even luckier! How was that? It's been a while since I wrote all fancy!
Anyway, I'm pretty sure I will feel luckier, because I'm about to make my first guess! Are you ready? Here, I'll wait until you are! ✿✿✿✿✿✿
Are you... the really sweet, really cute, really fun to talk to Bernadetta von Varley?
Love,
Your friend who's happy and lucky to meet you,
Maria
P.S. It's a plan then! We'll have the very best tea party! (there's a drawing here of Maria's head alongside as faithful a recreation of the other's self portrait as she can manage)
P.P.S. Wow... you're right! What genre do you think it would be? Maybe I just like to read them, but I think it could be a really fun romance! 'How do you tell us apart? Look into my eyes... that's true love!' Doesn't that sound cute?
P.P.P.S. Of course I don't mind! But what about this? I'll look for a special secret spot where we can have tea parties together! That way no one else can interrupt, and we can share a secret! Doesn't that sound fun?
"Leif likes almonds?" His sister frowns. She's glad to learn something about him but she doesn't like how she's had to learn it from Maria. Little things like this should be easy for her to know but she doesn't. There is a pang of jealousy as she pictures Leif and Maria and Ronan hanging out together and talking about almonds. But she supposes she's never offered what foods she used to like to him either.
While they have been growing closer, it still feels like an almost impossible dream that they might form a bond as strong as some of the other sibling sets that they know.
"I'll have to use almonds for his then," she nods, corners of her lips pricking back up the slightest bit. It really is hard to remain dour around Maria, especially when she gives the opportunity to talk about family.
"Arion, my older brother, he isn't at the Academy either. I haven't seen him in years. Maybe I'll have to give his chocolates to someone else too."
"Yeah! I bet they'd be really tasty in chocolate, too -- don't you think they'd have a really good crunch?" It helps that they're among the fillings provided for later; it's hard not to be confident in her hypothesis when it feels like Steffanelli himself has her back!
A short series of claps cuts through the air, and the little cleric looks up as her fingers still sift through the goodies. She takes precisely four almonds and only that, leaving the lion's share of them to Altena. There are plenty of other goodies, besides, and she has just placed a spoon next to a small jar of jam when their instructor begins speaking.
"Given your disparate goals," he begins, hands pressed together, "We won't be going through the steps together as a class. Instead, you'll find the instructions at your tables. You may work at your own pace and, if you need any help, do raise a hand and fetch the attention of myself or one of my aides."
"Yes!" Maria answers alongside the rest of the class, reaching for their written instructions and holding it slightly higher for Altena to look as well. "Hmm... Cut the chocolates into small, uniform-size pieces...
"Silly brothers, huh?" But she smiles so gently as she places blocks of chocolate in front of both Altena and herself. "Hee hee... well, I'll still make him some when he comes home, so it's okay." At least she still gets to spend time with Minerva, and for once Minerva gets to just be Minerva. Her world has grown beyond the Whitewings, a traitorous brother, and an imprisoned sister -- now she has Leif, who Maria's lucky enough to know now, and that girl who makes her smile--
A simple bandage cannot fix everything— If it could, the waters would be that much calmer. Bringing her eyes to Maria's staff serves as a reminder of the spell she secretly hopes to practice. She remembers the first time she had been shown that feeling. If even someone like her— so plagued by venom— could see it, it bodes well for the future.
"I'd welcome your company," Edelgard says graciously. Her right shoulder flicks up to adjust the towel and prevent it from falling to the ground. "Hm.. It's wisest to check the decks as a starting point. If we assume those in more dire straits were tended to first, that leaves plenty of others left elsewhere." Even so, she wouldn't find herself surprised to see a straggler or two who had been denied its entry. If they could find those people, that would make their journey all the more worthwhile.
Instead of staying in the room they now stand in, the princess teeters towards its arch and points to the stern of the ship. The voices of other aids and crew members bubbles the space; one mumbles about a man with an injured leg and another complains about having to stay on the ship at all.
"When I initially arrived, I saw a handful of people huddled towards the back. What would you think of going there?"
Acceptance brings a clear shine of joy to the cleric's face, punctuated by a wordless nod, loath to interrupt her friend. Then follows another, and another, quite in agreement with her assessment of things.
"They probably want the more experienced medics and clerics in the way back," Maria hums lightly. It would be stranger if it bothered her; though she's worked at the fringes of too many battlefields, her years might count to hardly even a fraction of those hard at work now. And besides: just because the work is less intense, that does not mean it is less worthy.
"--that sounds good to me! Then let's go, Edelgard!"
Though the ship is still somewhat crowded, most who see them (and more specifically the supplies they carry) tend to move aside for them; it takes only a few minutes to make their way there, and as the door shuts behind them, Maria's eyes flit across the room.
Very few attendants, she notes, though at least some of that she can attribute to the tired volunteers coming and going to check supplies and fetch them.
"Hello!" Maria chirps her greeting in a bright but soft voice, waving at those patients with no one to attend to them. Among them a young man snaps his head up, his face pale and his expression plaintive. Subtly, the little cleric tugs on Edelgard's sleeve, pivoting in his direction.
"Hi! My name is Maria, and this--" Would it be harder on Edelgard to have her name revealed? Or would she want to be known? Maria turns a smile over her shoulder, allowing her the room to decide for herself before she continues: "--is my friend! We're here to help. Can you tell us what's wrong?"
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It didn't take long for the three of them to venture to the southernmost boundary of the village, marked only by the river shimmering under the midday sun between the houses there and the forests beyond. The people of Iz had no need for a wall, having the natural protection of Thracia's rugged mountains to the west instead, and the dense forest north and south of them, so they were unimpeded to cross the creek and wind their way through hills and cliffs toward the sea. Ronan kept the lead, but Leif and Maria would sometimes take their own turns in front once the path became a straight shot to the coast.
The cliffs overlooking the coast here are tall, but not dangerously so, and a crude set of wooden steps has been hammered into a slope down one side of them. They'd obviously been made by an untrained hand, perhaps a child, but they serve their purpose as footholds well enough. Ronan marches down them without so much as a slip, making it clear that he'd been the one to build them, or at least use them more than anyone else in the village. There was a certain confidence in his step that only came with trust.
"Well, we're here," he says once they reach the rocky shore. It's low tide at this hour, so the beach is strewn with debris - petrified logs, algae, and broken shells, mostly - and pockmarked with tide pools still full of water. Here, too, a low waterfall spills the river into the ocean, and a small bay separates where they stand from the rest of the village's coastline.
Ronan starts to patrol the tidepools, stepping carefully between them so as not to slip and fall in.
"There's usually plenty of fish over here. Most just aren't very edible," he says over his shoulder. "When I was a child though, learning how to catch anything was enough to make me feel like I was doing something worthwhile."
Together again with Ronan and Maria, the jitters that had overcome Leif at the scent of the sea has abated to allow him to slow, to indeed be mindful again, but his heart doesn't quite reach that same pace. Whilst Iz shares the same coast as Fiana, there's a newness to seeing this particular location— one that makes Leif look high and low, taking it all in and mentally comparing it to where the Freeblades have taken him before. It's Ronan's guidance through the tidepools, silently exercising caution with each step, that prevents the prince from moving too wildly to satiate his curiosity however.
He keeps at the back of the pack now, letting Maria walk between the two of them as Leif minds his own feet too.
“I'm happy enough to be here at all, so...” Every now and then, he glances upwards at the other two in front of him, keeping check of the distance between him and them. “...catching something not edible is fine with me. It'll be your first time fishing, won't it, Maria?”
He's not sure whether or not his assumption here is actually right, but even without the use of her royal title in address, when Leif looks at her, he finds it difficult to imagine her roughing it outside. He imagines instead a delicate hand— one that turned pages rather than hunted, learning through written word over practical experience.
He decides then and there, in his own mind, that she's a Patricia more than a Tanya or Mareeta.
“But if you've got tricks for telling which ones are good, I'd like to hear that too, Ronan,” he leaves the floor open to trying that purposeful search. “If we find something we can eat, let's bring it back and eat it together. That'll be even more worthwhile, won't it?”
Like a chain of daisies, Maria places her trust in Ronan's trust; when she turns her eyes toward the weathered steps, it is not in trepidation, but a blinking curiosity. The wear of color that revealed paths of habit, and how it paled in a different manner to that which was bleached by the sun -- this is neither a separate nor smaller thing to the water that soon stretches out before them, but one beautiful, peaceful scene.
"What makes them inedible?" The little cleric's question floats alongside her, balancing on her fingertips when she stretches out a hand to watch its reflection touch a tide pool. Scurrying around to a wider side of one, nearer to their dutiful guide, she brushes her dress against her legs and crouches. Her gaze settles on the algae, and after a beat-- "Hello, Miss Lady," she whispers, wiggling her fingers at the silent tide, "Or whoever's there!"
With a flourish she springs back to her feet, pivoting on one heel and allowing the other to spin through the air. A wave to Ronan as she passes him, and once she's wandered a few steps further, another outstretched and playfully thrown toward Leif.
"That's right! I've never been fishing before." As far as grand little dreams went, it wasn't entirely off the list, though it rested quite peacefully below a great many other things. Perhaps if she made time for it, she could see that legendary golden fish one day... Oh, but the ocean is too beautiful today to keep plotting for tomorrow.
She laughs as she spins, and she spins as she laughs, a short-lived thing that swings her smile squarely upon the others.
"Yeah -- I want to hear, too! And if you guys are willing to teach me, then it's my turn to be the student again! Right? Hee hee... edible or not, I'm really looking forward to it!"
The young empress lets silence take hold for a moment, tilting her head this way and that to examine Maria’s handiwork. To tell the truth, it’s not as pristine as her serving girls would likely have managed... but who among them would attempt something so uniquely elaborate, anyway? It’s the care and commitment, from a near total stranger, that renders her uncharacteristically lost for words.
What does she think? She brings a hand up to the braid at the top, running curious fingers along the weave. It’s beautiful, of course. A style fit for a storybook princess, beloved by all, greeting her people at the Sunday market instead of looking down at them from atop an ivory tower. And to deny the part of herself that rejoices at that simple thought would be as good as conceding defeat, wouldn’t it? A part of herself that she had nearly forgotten, who wishes to be soft and gentle—perhaps because those who loved her first had made their home there.
Funny, that even the most earth-shattering of tragedies hadn’t managed to stomp out that flame. And so, though Sanaki looks nothing like how she should, she smiles once more and says—
“It’s lovely. You have my thanks. Both for saving me from certain fashion disaster… and for reminding me of something important.” A twirl in the chair sends the chain of roses spinning out around her, and she delights in that, too, giggling as she picks up the pearl-studded barrette she had been eyeing earlier.
"Though it’s your turn now, if I recall!” she offers, presenting the accessory with a flourish. "'I really think this would accent the rest of your outfit splendidly. Any ideas for how you would like to wear it?"
"Thank you, too!" Maria returns her gratitude with a lilt as playful as it is sincere. "For allowing me to style your hair! Hee hee... it's been a while since I've gotten to -- it was really fun!"
A peal of delighted laughter falls across the barrette Sanaki presents then, a hand loosely lingering by her mouth as if to catch it, but not really. The great fun of styling is so often a fortune bestowed upon those with long hair that she is caught quite by surprise.
"My turn?" There's an evident curl in the cleric's voice as she reaches back to lightly brush her fingers through her hair. She hadn't been quite as storm-drenched as Sanaki, but it certainly bears a bit of the playfulness of wind and water. With a hummed note, her eyes flutter shut in contemplation.
"Hmm... maybe... pulled toward the back, like this?" A fingertip traces backward, pushing aside her bangs and gingerly pulling them to the center of her skull. "It'll really pop right there, don't you think?"
It's nice, having someone else do her hair. As they chat, as her hair is tidied and her bangs are pulled away from her face, she realizes it has been far longer than she'd thought since someone else did this for her. Her chin settles on her fingertips, her lips against her knuckles, the line of her smile tangled with a bit of warmth and heartache.
"Thank you," she repeats, more softly as she catches Sanaki's eyes in the mirror. "Hee hee... this makes me really happy. But--" A sparkle catches in her eye, teeth bared in a mirthful, crescent smile. "--have you gotten to have any of the sweet treats yet? Oh, Sanaki, they have so many flavors! Lots of them are good for mixing, and--" A laugh. "--lots of them are good for sharing, too!"
Aside from that singular mock battle where all of them were limited by the monastery's list of allowed weapons and spells, Andrei has little idea of Maria's true prowess in battle. All he knows is that the monastery has seen fit to recruit him as backup to this investigation, which is enough to force him to set aside whatever reluctance he might feel about spending more time in the other's presence than necessary.
The limitations he faces here are more worrying; it is all but impossible to keep a ready-strung bow hidden from sight on his person, not to mention the quiver of arrows. Andrei's hand lingers upon the hilt of Professor Lambert's dagger, hidden under the edges of a long green tunic, gaze periodically scanning the corner where Maria had turned.
Rumors surrounding the illness had spurred the villagers' worries about the sudden disappearances, and he is uncertain whether the threat is purely a medical one, or if there is something more nefarious behind these troubling occurrences. But he had been sent here to guard, and he would have to do so in close quarters with his current repertoire.
When Maria reappears, then, Andrei automatically steps forth, serious expression unchanged even as he closes the distance to her side.
"Did it seem as though the priest knows anything about the disappearances?" he asks immediately. There is little need for him to exchange pleasantries with Maria beyond what is required for the mission, after all.
She takes her cues from the way he steps forward and the weight he carries in his expression, a much sterner thing than the easy comfort she tries to project. Would he think it too light? Flippant, and full of disregard? Maria may temper her tone, but her mannerisms remain; a finger and thumb pop up as she makes her report.
"I didn't even get to ask," she tells him softly, watching his expression. "I barely got to say hi before he tried to tell me about his god. I tried to ask, but he kept steering the conversation back to his faith, and invited me to visit their temple."
It's suspicious, isn't it? Round, rosy-hued eyes search Andrei's expression for what he makes of it. After all, a priest approaching the world-weary and those in need of aid is, in itself, not so strange or uncommon; Maria herself is prone to such behavior. Yet it is what follows that bothers her, unease prickling at the back of her neck.
How quick he was to invite her away from the safety of others. If she had been any less naïve and guileless, would he have even allowed her to fetch a friend? --would he even be waiting for them now?
"I told him I'd go get my friend who was worried about the disappearances too," Maria informs him of the vaguely-defined role he'd been set to play. "...Don't you think it's suspicious, Andrei? I told him to wait for me -- I thought we might investigate the temple together, but if it's too dangerous..." Her head tilts to one side. "...I don't think he'll stay here very long anyway."
[ MOVIE - COMEDY? ] Shoulders hunched, Sara curls into herself with sardonic laughter, the only one in the entire room that does. The villain is beyond redemption and unapologetic moreover, so she feels nothing watching him get his comeuppance and meet a deserved and grisly end. His type never learn, of course. She knows men who commit far worse crimes and receive no justice for their actions. Fiction loves pretending otherwise.
Her hollow laugh dwindles to nothing, though it never fully reached her eyes in the first place. The room goes quiet again save for the voices projected by magic while Sara peers at Maria with a curious, questioning look as if to ask, "Didn't you find it funny too?" and "Is it just me?"
Instead, she only says, "Sorry, I interrupted. Do you want to rewatch the show together?"
There's a lot you can learn about someone in even the ordinary moments. It is an ordinary thing to sit side-by-side with a friend (may she dare?) and watch a play, or a moving picture -- a... 'movey', she'd heard someone call it? -- just as it is an ordinary thing to look up at the stars together, too.
'Less ordinary,' says the silence when Sara laughs; 'unordinary,' the leveled stares only pretending to be subtle accuse. Even the story plays no music now, stewing in its own significance, the villain laid to his grisly end, and Sara laughs.
Maria wonders what it means. It doesn't sound like a joyous thing, and beside her the girl curls into herself, the sound bitter like a summer storm. It tapers away, leaving no relief in its wake, and the air is humid still, heavy still with all that had preceded it.
Truth be told, Maria did not find it funny either. It is her life's work to heal wounds like those that had laid the villain low, and her heart's work to love more than she should -- to hope that even at the end of a villain's path, there might be room enough to turn back. That is her great flaw, is it not? She is too selfish to ever take back her hand.
But she likes the sound of Sara's laughter. Not the fact that it sounds bitter to her ears, but to hear it at all and know that laughter itself still exists within her. She hears it, and she thinks: What is it that makes her laugh? and I'm happy that she can.
"Hee hee..." So when Sara laughs, it isn't alone; when she looks to the girl beside her, she will find rosy eyes narrowed into crescents, tender in their corners as Maria laughs too, soft giggles seeping into the space that silence left. The scene continues, all other eyes turn away, but in this moment she still looks at Sara and tries to learn.
A hand comes up to her mouth, guarding a secret for the two of them.
"Yeah," Maria whispers back, "I think I'd like that a lot!"
His eyes flickered downward for a beat, unfocused and distant at the question, and although another person might have been transported to a time when he was likewise kneeling in the dirt, or feeling the heat and mist of a nursery against his back, Raven simply felt the weight of the boy who had done those things, the phantom childhood that ached against his shoulders but that he could not see as clearly any longer.
Digging two fingers underneath the spiky coil of a weed's root system, he tugged, allowing the motion to fill the space between them before he answered.
"What sorts of herbs and flowers? Did you grow back at home, I mean."
It was not an answer, but it was as close to a concession as he felt he could give at the moment. That she felt comfortable amidst such life came as no surprise to him, and Raven would have been surprised if there was a single thing that didn't feel rejuvenated at her presence, like the tenderness of a small sun.
"Careful with that one," he added, prodding a hole in the soil up to a knuckle to indicate it before she could reach. "Its flowers are dead now, but the pods it's dropped may yet still be poisonous."
It doesn't escape her that his answer is a question; neither does she fail to notice that while he diverts the conversation, he still lets it grow, simply turning it toward her rather than shutting it down. Maybe the part of him that can speak the words is still buried in the earth, tangled in deep roots. Maria hums again. And that's okay.
"Hmm... I was too little to help with the gardens a whole lot the last time I was home," she remarks thoughtfully, eyes drifting toward the broken, spindling ceiling overhead. Then, abruptly, her laughter falls like rain: "Hee hee... To be honest, I mostly watched! But really helpfully. But... I think they grew things like sage, rosemary, peppermint... And there were roses, chamomiles, and daisies in the flowers... Um, hmm..." Eyes squeeze shut, her head tipping to the side and pestling loose earth into the crimson of her hair.
"I think... I told Papa I liked them once, and he said he'd have more planted... It's hard to remember now." When she was older, he would let her help out more with the planting and the tending; when she was older, she might even get to help organize them; when she was older, when she was older, did anything left in that castle still smile at the sun?
"Oh! Thank you!" They really ought to have someplace to set the more dangerous flora -- where did that box go? Shuffling over, she sets it vaguely in the middle of what used to be the greenhouse. "I moved one of the boxes behind us," she notifies him, just to be sure. "We can hold the stuff we need to be more careful with there!"
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"What kind?" There are so many options for fillings. Nuts, fruits, even other types of candies. Too many options, Altena thinks. It would be easier to narrow down if there were only a few. She reaches for a glass jar labeled as dried blueberries. "I guess I was hoping to try making a variety. Sweets like this were a rare treat when I was growing up so I think it would be nice to try several different options."
The fillings aren't the only choices for variety in flavor. Altena is also impressed with the different types of chocolate. Even the molds all have different shapes. She imagines it must be difficult for each soon to be chocolatier to create the exact same candies as someone else. It's nice to know that whatever she makes will be something truly personal.
"That's what I thought I'd make for my older brother, at least. Maybe my father, too. I want to make something for my younger brother but I still don't really know what it is that he likes." Altena huffs a laugh. "I guess a variety box would be good for him, too."
She didn't know Maria had a sister. It's nice knowing they both have a similar motive for coming here. At first, it seemed everything this time of year was themed toward romance but at least Maria is on the same page she is.
"I'm sure your sister and your friends will be happy you thought of them."
"Lots of different kinds...?" It is a curious eye that turns back toward their bevy of potential fillings, the gears in her mind churning anew. "Kind of like those boxes of assorted chocolates, right? That sounds really fun!" Are those other candies tucked in among the ingredients? Oh, the layers that could be made with those!
Still her smile warms and grows as she listens to Altena ponder, how she considers what to make and for who. Had any of the other people she thinks of so fondly now been on that expedition? Maybe she might have even run into them! And of course, she knows Leif. But is he the older brother or the younger brother?
(...Probably the younger one, right? It feels like Altena is a little bit taller.)
"When I went to Iz with Leif and Ronan," she begins, already excitedly sifting through fillings and imagining what, how many, for who, "He got some almonds at the general store! He told us--" Oh! That he used to sneak them between meals, actually, but should she go telling that to his sister...? "--that he used to like eating them. It might not be the same kind, but it's probably a good bet, right?"
At Altena's reassurance, however, she pauses in her many contemplations to look back at her and beam.
"Hee hee... I'm sure your brothers and dad will be happy, too! But I didn't know you had two brothers, Altena!" Holding up a couple dried fruits for little more than dramatic effect, the little cleric laughs. "I have two siblings, too! But I'm the youngest. My sister's at the Academy, but my brother isn't, so--" Somewhat defiantly, she tosses her head to the side, playfully sticking out her tongue. "--I'm giving his chocolates to my friends!"
little cheese has never once considered what a chipmunk might jot down for their daily agenda. but thankfully, little cheese is nothing but adaptable, so he ponders the question faithfully.
it can’t be all that hard, anyway, since maria’s given him a format to follow.
“chipmunk was starting to feel hungry,” shiro supplies, wisely drawing from personal experience. it wasn’t unheard of for a growing boy — and rodent, presumably — to wake up feeling ravenous. “so he wrote that down, too. ‘eat breakfast.’”
he jumps back to avoid being smacked by the whistling stick-sword, letting loose a light laugh that rumbles between them.
think, think. what happens next?
“chipmunk got out of bed,” shiro continues. “and went to look for something to eat.” he begins to circle maria now, weapon drawn and pointed at her. slowly, slowly, until he adopts a low stance in preparation of his second strike. “he found himself some nuts to eat. when he finished, he crossed that off his list.”
ffssshhhtt!
the stick in his hand lashes out — not yet in attack, but rather to coax her with a “come at me!” gesture.
As Shiro thinks, and before he has even spoken -- already, the expression on Maria's face grows brighter and rounder, like the fronds of curly ferns and the sunlight peeking through the trees. It would be easy to disregard a silly story, to grow shy and then grow detached, a quiet audience. But Shiro? Shiro considers it quite properly, and there is a joy to be found in that, too.
He's low to the ground again; he lets her off easy again, though perhaps that isn't the right way to put it. Rather, he allows their story to take the forefront.
"Chipmunk had already crossed two things off his list!" Maria laughs as she feigns driving away his mighty blade. "So early in the morning! And he was very pleased."
Falling back into a waiting stance, her eyes twinkle as she watches him in turn.
"But there was a whole day still ahead of him, and he couldn't keep writing things one at a time only to cross them out right after." The point of her blade drifts side to side, the princess herself half-shifting, half-bouncing her weight from foot to foot as the story plays out in her mind. "So Chipmunk wrote other things on the paper. 'There,' said Chipmunk. 'Now my day is all written down.'"
Not that she would spoil the rest of it already. How could she? One foot darts forward, and she strikes low, a little squirrel taking advantage of a chipmunk's height. The stick lashes out-- ferociously! -- toward his hip, yet what it hopes to leave is the mightiest, gentlest tap.
"The rest of the day was beginning, and Chipmunk went to his closet and put on his clothes. Then he crossed off--" Thwip! Another bullet crossed. "'Get dressed'! And he opened the door."
