A popular pastime in Garreg Mach is sharing tea and sweets with someone you wish to get closer to. Tables set up a short walk away from the student dormitories, semi-hidden away in picturesque little scenes, it's easy to while away the time with a bit of conversation on the side. However, beware. Just as it's easy to bond with someone, it's just as easy to make things awkward... 

A group of students organize a little blind meet-and-greet, ushering all participants to assigned tables, preparing all the drink and food you might require. The stage is set, so get talking! Send a numbered prompt from the list below to have your muse initiate a conversation with someone. For an extra bit of fun to simulate the game, randomize three numbers to send and bold the one your muse actually chooses. 

A new gambit...‎ ‎ 

A place you'd like to visit...‎ ‎ 

A strong battalion...‎ ‎ 

A word of advice...‎ ‎ 

Children at the market...‎ ‎ 

Close calls...‎ ‎ 

Cooking mishaps...‎ ‎ 

Equipment upkeep...‎ ‎ 

Evaluating allies...‎ ‎ 

Exploring the monastery...‎ ‎ 

Fódlan's future...‎ ‎ 

I'm counting on you...‎ ‎ 

Mighty weapons...‎ ‎ 

Monastery rules...‎ ‎ 

Monastery security...‎ ‎ 

Our first meeting...‎ ‎ 

Overcoming weaknesses...‎ ‎ 

Past laughs...‎ ‎ 

Potential training partners...‎ ‎ 

Reliable allies...‎ ‎ 

School days...‎ ‎ 

Someone you look up to...‎ ‎ 

Sturdy weapons...‎ ‎ 

Tell me about yourself...‎ ‎ 

Thanks for everything...‎ ‎ 

The ideal professor...‎ ‎ 

The last battle...‎ ‎ 

The library's collection...‎ ‎ 

The view from the bridge...‎ ‎ 

Things that bother you...‎ ‎ 

Working hours for guards...‎ ‎ 

Working together...‎ ‎ 

You seem well...‎ ‎ 

You're doing great work...‎ ‎ 

Your ambitions...‎ ‎ 

A dinner invitation...‎ ‎ 

Capable comrades...‎ ‎ 

Favorite sweets...‎ ‎ 

Food in the dining hall...‎ ‎ 

Garden mishaps...‎ ‎ 

Gifts you'd like to receive...‎ ‎ 

Shareable snacks...‎ ‎ 

Perfect recipes...‎ ‎ 

The ideal relationship...‎ ‎ 

Strange fish in the pond...‎ ‎ 

The existence of crests...‎ ‎ 

Cats...‎ ‎ 

Classes you might enjoy...‎ ‎ 

Plans for the future...‎ ‎ 

The opera...‎ ‎ 

Books you've read recently...‎ ‎ 

Cute monks...‎ ‎ 

Dining partners...‎ ‎ 

Fashion...‎ ‎ 

First crushes...‎ ‎ 

Guessing someone's age...‎ ‎ 

Heart-racing memories...‎ ‎ 

Hopes for your future...‎ ‎ 

I heard some gossip...‎ ‎ 

Relaxing at the sauna...‎ ‎ 

The courtyard couple...‎ ‎ 

Things you find romantic...‎ ‎ 

You seem different...‎ ‎ 

Dreamy knights...‎ ‎ 

He can't help the small, sad smile. "I am relieved to see you, as well." Ryoma never thought he would see Saizo again. The last he had heard, Saizo had died. This isn't the same Saizo, Ryoma knows this, but there's still relief.

There's a better world out there, and Saizo lives in it, as do his family. That brings Ryoma comfort.

"Takumi?" Ryoma chews on his cheek thoughtfully. That's hardly the response he ought to give, but this had been his attempt to be more casual about it. Of course, in a world where Saizo is alive, so too is Takumi. He nods.

"This is where we sent him?" Is he a student, or a professor? Sakura is a professor, so it stands to reason so too would Takumi. Same with Leo. It's hard to imagine Takumi as a professor.

Then again, it's difficult to imagine Saizo as a professor, yet here he is.

Saizo looks down at the offending sword, and Ryoma is quick to pick it up. He stares at the blade, which winks up at him in the early morning light. "I hardly expected to see someone this early." It's a flimsy excuse. "I have some flashes of paranoia from the war, I suspect."

He can feel a frown tugging at the corners of his lips when he sees the melancholy smile form on the other's face. Saizo had many reasons for wearing his mask, mostly to cover his face and make himself seem unapproachable to avoid any unwanted attention from strangers but he's grateful for the cover it provides him in this moment.

"I don't have his schedule but he's an archery professor." That was the only thing the ninja was sure of. He needed to make time to check in with the younger man. His focus was Ryoma. His eye is still locked on the other man, not nearly as analyzing as he had been moments ago or at the beginning of their conversation.

"My apologies for catching you off guard. I'll try to be more mindful in the future." A part of him is not entirely convinced nor does he want to drop what little suspicion he's acquired in the short amount of time. For the sake of something more normal and familiar, he pulls his hand from the pouch of shuriken at his hip in favor of walking over to the weapon rack to retrieve a sword.

Not that Kris can blame them, in spite of his efforts to do better. If it isn’t one thing it’s another, and either way whatever he’s making never quite comes out right even with supervision. Who wouldn’t look at his years-long track record of this and see anything but a lost cause? Better that they just task him with cleaning up and the like instead and save trying to salvage his culinary skills or lack thereof for when there aren’t dozens of hungry mouths to cook for.

If all he has to do is swing the mallet to pound the rice though—and not smash the other person’s fingers in the process, ideally—it should be fine, right? They need all the hands they can get to meet the sheer demand for everyone’s latest food obsession, and the mallet’s weight isn’t much trouble for him at all.

Guess it’s not reassuring enough for some of the other volunteers, since that would make them the ones risking injury by partnering with him. He’d like to believe he wouldn’t, that he can restrain his physical strength enough the same way he does in training, in fighting battles where the aim isn’t to kill. It would be stranger if he couldn’t control it, but Kris supposes he’ll just have to keep looking around for someone brave enough to handle turning the mochi.

He may not have the biggest sweet tooth, but that doesn't stop him from getting some. And some more. And some more. Until the kitchens run out, of course, and Ryoma is left in a mochi-free existence. He could call it quits here; surely he's had enough sugar.

Surely yes, but he still finds himself in the kitchens when he's told they're looking for aid. Who better to help than a Hoshidan?

Most people are paired up - Ryoma may have to reconsider his plan. He spots someone by himself, and this is Ryoma's chance. He isn't sure he trusts the mallet in a stranger's hands, but he would feel terrible crushing a stranger's fingers.

Garreg Mach is unlike her tutelage under Father MacGregor. In Grado, her, her brother, and Lyon were the only students, and that afforded them time for discussion and other activities (or, in Ephraim's case, daydreaming). On the other hand, Garreg Mach is fast paced and there are so many students that she is sure that she will never learn all of their names. It would be most prudent to start with her class and work from there. One day, she may know them all by name, the professors included.

Unfortunately, she's yet to become acclimated to the grounds, much less everyone's names. Being a fresh face to the academy doesn't stop her from hailing a nearby student to get her bearings so that she isn't late. It wouldn't do for such an important task.

It doesn't take long to find the room she needs. Sunlight spills through the door as she pushes it open. Inside is a man with long, brown hair who seems to be about her age, as far as she can surmise. Eirika moves to the front of the class and stops in front of him. "Professor Ryoma, I presume?" She inclines her head in greeting. "I'm Eirika, Queen of Renais, but today I shall be your instructor."

So when this silly holiday comes along, Ryoma takes the opportunity with both hands. If a student cannot lead a class, then they cannot lead a battalion, a territory, or a country. Thankfully, the class consists of only Ryoma, but that does not mean he won't be a strict professor - or student, he supposes.

Karel knows, in his heart, that he shouldn't be out for too long. Karla will certainly be in shambles if he leaves her alone for more than a day, her current state being as it is, and even with that aside... He is far too old to be moved by fancy. Rumors have no bearing on him, and yet he finds himself in these woods because of them. Why? a lack of anything more substantial to do with his time, perhaps.

But here, Karel has gotten far more than he could ever anticipate. He hasn't seen this man in nearly half a year's time, and had half a mind to think he had simply left the world itself behind, disappearing like smoke — As it turns out, it was just him.

...And, more than anything, Karel doesn't know why he's almost bitter over that. He has Karla by his side once more, he intends to keep her there for as long as she will allow, and that much should be enough; he needs no one else, and never has. And yet.

"...No. Stay here. There is much that we ought to... Discuss, I suppose."

He doesn't know what to say. He hadn't planned to say anything at all - not now, not ever. He hadn't planned to see Karel again, either.

He shifts uncomfortably. Well, they are here to bathe - he ought to undress. That's more comfortable, rather than standing there stiffly.

Karel is the only person to have seen Ryoma's scars since his death. If possible, he would like to keep it that way. Thankfully, it's just them; who else would come all the way out here?

"Where do I even begin?" Ryoma says as he leaves his things in a pile. "I suppose the beginning, no?"

He's stripped down to his underwear - previous intimacy aside, he feels too strange to undress further.

"The war destroyed us both. For you, those cracks showed quickly and easily. For me, it was much less obvious." He steps into the water and sinks in. He feels both better and worse; he cannot explain it.

"I used what we were to... cope, I suppose. That I may be useful to someone who needed me. Now, I'm not sure I helped you." He takes in a deep breath. This place is soothing, nostalgic.

"I wanted to believe I could somehow save you from your own darkness. It may sound ridiculous, and looking back, it was. What we had may not have been love, but it was healing, until it wasn't." It hadn't been a sudden thing, more of a gradual decline.

"My exit was sudden. I realised I had been using you to feel better about myself. You are not a crutch. I know if I sought you to end things in person, I would not have ended things at all." A pathetic and cowardly reason, from a coward of a man.

It sends shivers down her spine — the dark, the crunch of leaf litter and branch beneath skittering animal foot, the lantern itself, even. It reminds her of that time — or that day, as Karel had told her — in the mirror world, creeping and crawling through dark towers, hiding behind tree and inn and barn as she attempted to survive just a little longer. It coils something deep and sinister in her chest, and she hates it— she hates it — but she walks on, attempting to focus only on her footfalls, the path, and her destination.

As she comes closer to the monastery, she hears something. At first it is too far away to make itself clearly and cleanly known, but it still strikes a chord of anxiety in her chest, pulls her a little faster and deeper through the wood around her. As she gets closer and it becomes a clear coughing, her feet fly ever only faster, dancing and scattering over root to find —

A tall man, with long hair, back turned to her. If he were just a little thinner, hair just a little darker and less layered, she may mistake him for her brother. As it is, though, she doesn’t; she sees him bent against a tree, and from his lips...

... ... ? ...

Perhaps he’d eaten a strange plant, one that couldn’t be eaten here. That’s her first thought. But with the sun now at their backs, she hurriedly puts down her lantern and comes to his side, reaching a hand to his back.

“Get it out of your system,” she says, soothingly, steadying him. “There... you’ll be alright, once it is out of your system...”

It starts with tightness in his chest that he's been trying to ignore with medication. He can push past this, as he pushes past anything else. He can ignore the pain ripping through him.

That morning, his lungs finally give up, and he chokes up a whole meadow on the outskirts of town.

Ryoma is familiar with this disease, though it's never affected him before. Usually, it's a disease that affects those hiding romantic feelings. This doesn't apply to Ryoma. Yes, he's had his dalliances. Yes, he's seen Karel again for the first time in six months. Yes, there's also...

He looks around in between helpless chimes. He seems to be alone. Ryoma allows himself to cough harder, hacking until the petals that escape are dotted vivid red. He needs to get rid of what's in his chest, before the day begins and he hacks up something in front of students. For now, he's safe here.

This is part of the problem. This is a rarer strand of the disease, where emotional repression in general can infect the lungs. He did this to himself, and he knows that. He also knows he cannot stop now. Is it so wrong to want a normal life? Is it so wrong to run away? He knows he asks too much, and he knows he is selfish.

Someone approaches. Ryoma turns around, and he feels a branch inside of him shift. Dark hair, serious expression - he knows this too well.

"Kar-" No. This woman bears a striking resemblance to him, but she isn't him.

"I apologise. This can't be a flattering look." He tries a chuckle, but it hurts too much. Whatever is in his chest, he suspects it has thorns.

"I'll be alright." He turns around then and coughs up more flowers, though at this point, all that comes out are petals. He looks at the mess by his feet, flowers and blood. Lies stacked upon lies, a neat stack, so he thought.

This hardly looks neat at all.

All that being said, it makes his words cut far deeper than he knows.

He shakes his head. "None of it matters to me anymore. You haven't caused any lasting harm, as far as I know." How are those twins doing? He doubts they would be all the way out here; they have a country to lead.

"Ah, there you are, Sakura." He smiled warmly at her. If nothing else, he was always glad for the days he got to spend with her. He was glad the war hadn't taken everything from him. He lessened his regrets, if only a little.

"Have you heard? The kitchens are attempting to make mochi. I'm certain if he asked, we could borrow their equipment and some ingredients and make our own."

Would they have had bean paste, or would Ryoma and Sakura have to get creative for their filling? He wondered what else they could use. Would jam work, or would that be too messy? There was only one way to find out, either way.

"I promise, I will not hit your fingers." With his stature, it would make more sense for him to hold the mallet, and with her smaller size, she would probably mould it better than he could. It was a perfect arrangement.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here. Emergency or not." It's relief their homeland isn't in danger, and he knows his liege has appointed someone responsible to act in his stead while he's in Fodlan.

"Takumi is here as well. Though I regret to say I haven't made a point to approach him yet in order to ask how he's been faring." At most, he'd seen the younger man around campus. It seemed like he's been well. They've both been busy teaching their respective classes though.

His gaze averts to the blade Ryoma had dropped on the ground. That hadn't been the reaction Saizo was anticipating, and usually, the other man could pinpoint where he was hiding or recognize his light footsteps. During peacetimes, it was more difficult to keep his presence concealed from his liege.

Which made the reaction Ryoma had moments ago seem odd.

He can't help the small, sad smile. "I am relieved to see you, as well." Ryoma never thought he would see Saizo again. The last he had heard, Saizo had died. This isn't the same Saizo, Ryoma knows this, but there's still relief.

There's a better world out there, and Saizo lives in it, as do his family. That brings Ryoma comfort.

"Takumi?" Ryoma chews on his cheek thoughtfully. That's hardly the response he ought to give, but this had been his attempt to be more casual about it. Of course, in a world where Saizo is alive, so too is Takumi. He nods.

"This is where we sent him?" Is he a student, or a professor? Sakura is a professor, so it stands to reason so too would Takumi. Same with Leo. It's hard to imagine Takumi as a professor.

Then again, it's difficult to imagine Saizo as a professor, yet here he is.

Saizo looks down at the offending sword, and Ryoma is quick to pick it up. He stares at the blade, which winks up at him in the early morning light. "I hardly expected to see someone this early." It's a flimsy excuse. "I have some flashes of paranoia from the war, I suspect."

The water is pristine, sparkling. There's not another soul in sight. It's quiet, and Ryoma can simply be, with no further expectation.

he watches the fish under the lake's surface. There are rumours of quite rare fish here; perhaps he ought to try sometime. He notices a frog on a lily pad, with an interesting shape protruding from its head. He wonders what kind of frog would have such an antenna.

His wondering stops mattering when the poor little thing seems intent on drowning itself. With a startled gasp, Ryoma scoops up the frog into his calm.

"It's too early for frogs, is it not?" Ryoma asks. "This may explain your behaviour. A little out of it from spawning too soon? I understand your plight." He pokes the weird antenna. "Or is this a parasite that's harming you?"

He brings the frog closer, so that he may examine it. "Hm. How may I help you, my small friend?" He feels insane talking to a frog, but where's the harm? After all, it's just a frog.

The steam room at Garreg Mach is good, but it cannot beat the full body submersion into hot water.

The moment Ryoma heard about it, he head out to it immediately. He had also heard that it may be cursed in some way, but that's a ridiculous notion. Surely it's just someone trying to scare others away. He brings a weapon just in case; he can always leave it in the pile of his clothes.

The spring is located in a quiet section of the woods, deep within. It's serene, though he can't hear any sound of wildlife at all. Strange, but not strange enough to put him off.

What does put him off, however, is that he's not alone.

He could handle a strange. This man, however, is hardly a stranger.

"Karel," Ryoma says, mild surprise colouring his tone. "It has been a while."

Six months, if memory serves. Ryoma hadn't intended to leave things the way he had. He supposes nothing changes; he remain a coward, both in Hoshido and in Fódlan.

"I can leave, if you prefer." Isn't that what he had told Karel that first night? He'd like to sink into a pit and never resurface.

"As, if I stay, I would like to discuss what happened." All of it: the short relationship, and Ryoma's prompt escape from it all. "I feel I owe you that much." And more, if Karel even cares to listen.

Which is why he finds himself walking into the training grounds. He's grateful for the quiet, much like that other swordsman seems to be. It's the only part of the day where he can enjoy it. Once classes began for the day, it would be rather difficult to find this kind of peace with all students awake. Saizo had fallen into a comfortable routine though, and now that he had it, he would hope to keep it before it broke.

At the greeting he gives a low hum and a nod of his head in acknowledgment as he pulls a shuriken from the leather pouch at his hip before taking aim at one of the training dummies. And just as he's about to throw it, the ninja glances over at the swordsman again when he hears the blade clatter to the ground. His eye darts to sword at the other man's hip for a moment. That blade was unmistakable. Raijinto. When had his liege arrived?

“Lord Ryoma.” He bows low out of respect, his head remaining down for a few seconds longer before the ninja is straightening his back to stand upright again. “I remember telling you all was well in my recent letters.” The way he was talking made it seem like he’d been here for a while now. Surely his lord would have told him he was planning on travelling to Fodlan. 

Just as he pretends with Sakura, he pretends with Saizo. He will be whatever Ryoma they believe him to be, and spare them both the reality of a worse world. He can do this much; he can protect them in this way.

"Please, I am no lord here. Speak to me as you would any colleague." He doesn't mention that he hates that Saizo calls him Lord, after all that happened: they both know he does. Ryoma also knows that Saizo struggles to call him anything else, but he doesn't want to draw attention. He's built a life here, a reputation outside of being Prince Ryoma.

He shakes his head. "I promise you, nothing is wrong at home." Can he make that promise? He's choosing to trust in himself, a man who walked a different path.

As Ryoma regards Saizo, he can't help the small frown. That unfamiliarity, that distance; so Ryoma broke his own promise to himself. He wants to know, but asking would reveal what he doesn't know, and he can't.

"There is no emergency. I suppose I was curious where Sakura had taken post." What of Takumi? And Hinoka? He doesn't know, but he's certain Sakura is here.

Is she the same Sakura that Saizo knows? Ryoma isn't sure.

The lies stack so neatly on top of each other, lie after lie. Ryoma doesn't hesitate.