"Have some death! :D"

[ from here @prhyst ]

“Huh? Oh, okay.”

Words that defined Rhys’s life experience. He let himself be dragged along to the pasta table with Henry, realizing what he was up to. Well, single people should be able to eat too. Rhys assumed Henry didn’t have a date if he was resorting to bringing him over to get a huge, oblong plate of pasta.

“Yes, it does smell nice and look appetizing,” commented Rhys, suddenly hungry enough to dig into some pasta.

It took only the moment for Rhys to sit down for Henry to seize the meatball.

Rhys raised his eyebrows, a small smile on his lips. They weren’t close, really, but Henry was a coworker and they should know each other better. Rhys folded his hands and nodded. “You may have that, if you like. I think it’s big enough to share— but if you’re hungry, I’m happy to share all of my half of the meatball with you. I’m thankful to have some of this spaghetti.”

It was sort of a mystery as to why they would put only one meatball on the plate, thought Rhys, as he chewed a bit of pasta, but he supposed if a young couple to-be couldn’t figure out how to handle a meatball, their relationship in general needed some work.

Good, good, good~! This sucker didn’t put up any kind of fuss. The perfect partner. Henry had chosen well. Pleased, he giggled quietly to himself as they sat down and were brought their plate. No going back now. He’d half expected the other to balk and protest his claim over the One Meatball, but the man did not. He offered it up freely. 

Sure, maybe it was big enough to share. But Henry was hungry. And he’d so been wanting this meatball all to himself. If they’d given him a plate of his own, he wouldn’t have had to share at all... but, looking at the heaping mountain of spaghetti, sharing was probably for the best. Wouldn’t do to get any rumbly tummy aches from eating too much. . . but, the meatball... but... but...

Before he could bother with any further mental gymnastics, the meatball had been popped into his mouth and yum. Poof. Gone.

No regretti for this spaghetti fiend, nope.

“And I’m thankful for the meatball,” Henry countered with a grin once he’d swallowed it down. “But happy to share the rest.” Twirling a fork into his side of the plate, he hummed, chipper as can be. Still, this strikes him as an opportunity, and so for better or worse, he opens his mouth again:

🔥 to gather around a fire with my muse [ fleeting snow ] 

“Mister Seteth!” Henry chirps brightly in return as he sits himself down next to the man. There’s something nice about a warm campfire. It reminds him of evenings spent hovering around the Shepherds in ol Chrommy’s army, daydreaming that one day he might count among their number. . . but things don’t always go as planned.

All the same, he smiles. “Good to see you, too.” Feet extended before him, he hums, when Seteth pipes up again. A single brow is quirked. “Alarmed?” Why ever would he be alarmed? Knives are fun, not scary. Rather, he’s jubilant to be invited so.

🎯 to play darts with my muse [ fleeting snow ] 

“Oh, sure! This sounds like fun!”

And really, how hard could it be? 

The first couple throws went okay. Nothing too exciting, though Henry felt the growing need to impress. “Third’s the charm, nyes?” he noted with his cursory smile. Awkwardly twirling the dart in his hands, he looked up to the board. How hard could it be, he mocked, internally. Harder than he’d imagined, evidently.

Still, Henry was, if anything, somewhat of a persistent bugger. Carefully, he aimed. Carefully, he pictured how his dart would fly true, right into the nice, red little dot smack dab in the center--

Thwack.

It landed in the wood, a good meter off from the board. Dumbfounded more so than embarrassed, Henry blinked in surprise before shaking his head and gathering himself, then going to retrieve his darts. He paused before the last, pointing at the object with a wide smile.

“Look. I got a fly. Just in the wing though... Poor guy’s still alive. Hrm.”

Welp. That could be rectified easily enough.

[...]

Once she descends the stairway, the songstress peers into every room and hallway just to put her dutiful mind to rest. Simply practice for a moment, calm down, and go back outside. That’s her plan – or, at least, that was her plan. One minute passes by… then ten… and she loses track of time. Seated in one of the many grand rooms of the lodge, she allows herself to play to her heart’s content! The keys of her flute are cold underneath her fingers, but that might be one of the only moments she doesn’t mind the frigid feel. The–

“Goodness!” Azura exclaims, yanking the flute away from her and turning towards the voice. Her heart’s hammering against her ribs and – with widened eyes and flushed cheeks – she swears that the male wasn’t standing there beforehand. How long had he been here and… heard her…

The compliment catches her off-guard and she can feel her face heat up not even a moment later. This was strange, very strange. What was he talking about? Her hair… a hex? “I–” her sentence is interrupted by a sudden pause, before the young man begins speaking once more. Her gaze shifts down to her flute, then at him, and back to her flute once again. “Uhm… I,” she clears her throat – setting the instrument carefully in her lap – “thank you for the… kind words. Sadly, my hair’s condition is not a hex nor am I sure how to properly ‘use’ one.”

Her shoulders relax and she tilts her head slightly. Azura knows him from somewhere. Well, not know but she recognizes him. Where did she… was it class? He was one of the faculty staff, right? He… er, what was his name?

“My flute,” she pauses, “sorry if I disturbed you by any chance–”

“Disturb? Aw, naw! ‘Course you didn’t,” he assures with a smile, casually waving away the notion like it’s no big deal - which it isn’t! so. “I don’t know if I’d ever heard a flute before... but it has a nice sound, huh.” he can imagine hearing it at like, a graveyard or on a haunted ship or something. just the right pitch, the right potential for eeriness.

delightful - truly. clearly she is a lady of taste.

whoever she is.

“I’m Henry. And you?”

if there’s a chance now that’s he’s the one doing the disturbing, it doesn’t register. he props himself up on a chair and stares, perhaps a touch too expectantly.

there’s something else she said just now that he’s not forgotten, and letting it go unaddressed doesn’t suit him. she doesn’t know how to fling a hex? no problem.

🌙 to go dancing in the moonlight with my muse [ fleeting snow ]

it’s nice out. the perfect kind of evening for meandering, even if it’s cold as heckie out there. almost deathly cold, even, some might say -- though he has no intention of perishing this eve. the deserts of plegia are not so far removed at night, so it’s hardly a matter of being ill-acclimatized. plus, he’s got layers.

all in all, he’s good to go. the moonlight shines bright overhead, lighting the way.

he hums as he walks, and before long, he’s kinda, sorta,

lost.

not that he minds. if anything, the clearing ahead is perfect. this kinda eve is great for soaking in moonbeams, energies conducive to some of his favourite hexes. 

and so, stopping in the pristine, untouched meadow of snow, gently falling flakes glittering in the light, henry starts to dance. honestly, he’s never formally learned, so it’s a bit of a flailing spectacle, more like, but there’s no doubt he’s having fun.

finally, with a laugh, he falls into the snow with a poff of powder dusting up, and it’s from this point of view he can tell: he’s no longer alone. the mage sits right up. somewhere nearby, a crow squawks.

send ⛄️ to build a snowman with my muse [ fleeting snow ]

he’s never done this before, but that’s never stopped him. he packs his snow with abandon, higher and higher, giggling, innocently whistling, and cheerfully humming to himself the whole while. even better is that he’s got company, though she’s busying herself with her own snowman. he’d made her promise not to peek ‘til his masterpiece was complete. likewise, he’d keep his peepers to himself.

“Aaaand... presto!”

standing back from affixing one last twig near the bottom, hands on his hips, henry admired his work. not too bad, if he said so himself!

“All done here, Miss Cordelia. If you’re done as well, might I bug ya for a second opinion? Whaddaya think? Could it use More of the red stuff, or is it juuuust the right amount already?”

the snow... creature (?) looms tall, a lumpy thing with sharp teeth and scraggly legs. truly, a chef d’oeuvre. 

incursionparagon​:

Though others might not have expected it from one as uptight as she, Cordelia was quickly becoming accustomed to many of the mage’s eccentricities, albeit still baffled by many more. For instance, ‘as smart as a crow’ was something she recognized as a glowing compliment, whereas ‘no take-backsies’ gifted her with little more than a vague sense of foreboding. She was going to regret that, wasn’t she?

“Your treat, hmm?” A kind offer, and one she accepted as graciously as she planned to repay it, for there would surely be a next time (she hoped). “Well then, thank you, Henry. Is there anything that tickles your fancy?” Put like that, it sounded almost as if she was the one who would be treating him… but there was no harm in getting ideas from him– specifically about food– was there? Fódlan still had so many regional meals to offer, she scarcely knew where to start. And then her train of thought was ever so gracefully thrown off course.

“Henry!” She gasped, nigh scandalized, florid hair paling against the vibrant flush of her cheeks. “Why would you…” No, actually, she didn’t want that answer. Her question fell off with a heavy sigh, gaze pointedly drifting over the nearing markets. “Ahem. In any case, I’m…” Was she a Shepherd? They had existed long before she had joined Chrom’s forces, and upon the orders of her captain, no less. She had accompanied them, but was she one of them?

…Ah, how silly. She already knew what her prince would say if asked– knew it as truly as she knew that (un)gentle ache in her heart.

“I’m still a Shepherd no matter where I am,” Cordelia concluded, smiling faintly at the distant crowds. Her gaze flickered to her cheery companion. “Same as you. But to answer your question: I aim to become captain of my order someday. I’ll no doubt have to train a number of new recruits by the time that day comes. Here, I can both learn and learn to teach.” Fixing him with a quizzical look, she turned her attention to him in full. “But what about you? Somehow I’m not surprised to see you here, but as a professor?” 

Henry shook his head. “Everything here is way better than all the stuff I was eating on my own. You won’t find me bein’ picky, no-sirree!” That wasn’t super helpful though, was it? His brow wrinkled lightly in thought as he mulled over it further. “Do you have a favourite food, Miss Corrrdelia? Anything that the mere thought of makes you feel a lil’ peckish?”

There. Now he’d answered suitably, he was sure. And it wasn’t like he’d lied in any way, shape, or form - anything and everything they could get out here was a step above his usual fare. Mind you, wasn’t like he didn’t have a special fondness for bugs and the like, and the crunch of their little bodies, but they took so much effort for so little return. . . And if he cheated and used magic, they simply didn’t taste the same.

The mage’s smile but widened at the knight’s gasp. Mayhap he found some delight in being able to tease so easily, without even trying. Or maybe it was just the colour in her cheeks - red, like blood, heat, rising to the skin’s surface... Heh.

His smugness did not last.

Same as you.

His steps came to a halt. He wrinkled his nose. I’m still a Shepherd no matter where I am. Same as you. The way she said it so easily, with such assurance. He could almost believe it. Not like Cordelia had any reason to lie to him, right? Not when he’d made himself so useful at the Shepherds’ side during the war. He gulped. Then turned on his heels. “If you don’t have anyplace in mind, let’s try this one out! It smells yummy, hee hee!”

He had, of course, been paying attention despite his sudden pause. As he strolled toward the small building, stopping just outside, he beamed back. “Captain Cordelia! Has a nice ring to it if ya ask me~” Perusing the menu scrawled on the board before the entrance, he scratched at his face idly and hummed and hawwed.

“As for myself... Well I’ve had quite enough of being a student. Thought I’d try something new.”

Keep smiling and no one will ever suspect anything.

And besides, not like he was lying here, either. (He’d never lied before and wasn’t about to start!)

“Not like I have any kiddos, so I gotta pass on my knowledge to someone, right? Legacies, and all that. I mean, that’s the same as you with your order, right? To be remembered, and have your name go down in history...!”

incursionparagon​:

She could hear the pun perfectly well, even without his emphasis. Despite what her comrades might think of her, what with her usual focused countenance and all that, she did enjoy her fair share of humor– she may very well have even enjoyed this pun, to an extent, had it not been her own name across the entirety of her class rosters at stake. Caught between the desire to pinch the bridge of her nose and an exasperated, fond, and exasperatedly fond half-smile, the redhead settled for simply shaking her head. 

“You don’t have to force yourself on my account, Henry.” Well, not too much, at least; she did hope that he would still keep it out of her students’ earshot. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll give you special permission to call me Crowdelia in your head, and maybe even out loud now and again, just so long as my students don’t.” She paused to smile at him, gently, almost playfully. “Alright?” 

And that was that.

Although she had allowed their disparate classes to merge, Cordelia was still relieved when it came time for their students to hang up their training lances and… well, Fodlan didn’t appear to use spellbooks, but metaphorically speaking– and watched as the students flocked back to the shade of the academy’s halls. She did not turn when Henry approached, but still cast him a glance as he drew to a halt at her side. 

“I’m alright,” she replied easily– almost teasingly, given the difference in their energy, but who could say?– and at last turned to face him as the last of their students scurried out of sight. “You know, Henry, I was thinking that this might actually be beneficial to both of our classes if we do it right. Our subjects are as different as night and day, but that’s precisely why having to spar against each other might be good for them… Don’t you think?” 

Ah, but gods, did he look tired, now that she looked more closely. Had she gone overboard in making him run laps as well? Cheery as he was by nature, Cordelia had to wonder if he wasn’t more exhausted than he’d let on.

“Well, I suppose we can hold off on that discussion for a little while longer. Especially since it’s the middle of the day…” She smiled again. “Would you like to talk over lunch?”

“Aw, it’s no biggie, Cordelia. Really.”

What did he live for, if not to aim to please?

But with special permission came temptation, and he gnawed on his lower lip in thought, conflicted. First she had wanted him not to use the name, and now she didn’t care? People could be so confusing...

“Well, okidoke then, nyaha!” He wouldn’t ask again. “No take-backsies!”

And then, after being all nice and stuff, Cordelia up and tried to kill him.

Sort of. But then the running came to an end and much to his surprise he’d made it through, next to no croaking involved. How ‘bout Them apples?

Upon being addressed, the dark mage quirked a brow, his attention fully hers. In return, heedless of his fatigue, he nodded most emphatically-- “Yes, yes, yes! I do think! My, quite the stroke of genius, Miss Cordelia! As smart as a crow!”

(A compliment, lest anyone wonder.)

Hmmm... Lunch sounded especially good right about now, in truth. “Yes, let’s! Before we get ourselves any rumbly tummies...” He hummed as they walked, an old ditty he’d picked up from a schoolmate way back when. Then: “It’ll be my treat! We can go wherever you’d like!”

It was kind of nice, albeit foreign, to have something of a disposable income. He hadn’t even had to raid the graveyard here yet in hopes of finding some treasure or another to pawn off for his next meal. Next time, it’d be not for funds, but for Fun! He was looking forward to it already.

“Sooo,” he mused aloud as they neared the markets, a pensive finger posed on his chin, “what madecha want to teach, anyhow? I’d have thought you’d have preferred to stay at home with Chrommy-wommy and all the rest of you Shepherds.”

Sometimes, as he drifted off to sleep, Henry fancied it might have been nice to be one of them - a Shepherd.

Not one to waste time, Cordelia moves onto the next order of business the moment Henry accepts the drink: fetching him a rag to clean off his face, at least (my, but he does look a bit of a mess right now). As the mage revels in his drink, she looks around; it does not take long to find something, and by the time he’s happily crowing away again, she’s already pressing it into his hands.

“Just for you, Henry,” she says. “And here, this too, if you’d like to clean up a bit more. You’re still rather dirty.” It was to be expected on a day like this, but she imagines even Henry doesn’t relish the stink of... whatever’s speckling his sleeves overmuch-- and then she laughs briefly, faint but fond.

“Just a bit.” A smile plays at her lips, her head tipping forward and to the side in feigned apology. “Forgive me? If I’d known you’d be here so soon, I’d have asked the healers to wait.” The pegasus knight pauses for a beat, heaving a disappointed sigh. “Unfortunately, it wouldn’t have been much even if they had. The student I went up against only needed a couple of shots before it was better for me to leave the field.” Concise, well aimed... and utterly embarrassing. Another sigh, heavy and laden with frustration, the flip side of the coin of fervent self-improvement. “I did get in one passable blow, at least.” And one pathetic one. “And you?”

A second glance tells her that whoever his opponent had been, they hadn’t let him off easy, and she lifts a brow. However battered Henry looks, she’s sure he’d not let his opponent off easy.

How could something as simple as juice prove so satisfying? Henry sips and savours, feeling oh so happy. Cordelia had gotten him a juice! Just for him! She’s so nice. Part of him wonders why that is, but that thought is viciously stamped away into oblivion in favour of his ever present smile.

But when she mentions his appearance, brows lift and he glances down. “Huh. I hadn’t noticed, haha!” He’d noted the blood, of course, but looking closer... His cookies... She presses something else into his hands - a rag, he notes with some disappointment that it isn’t a second drink - and he contemplates it idly.

What does she want him to do with that?

Nose scrunches in confusion, and he almost, almost verges on remembering she’d hinted at him cleaning up - alas, her suggestion had been spoken perhaps too gently, for the topic of battle is far more interesting a prospect and commandeers his attention with the force of a tsunami.

“Nyaha, it’s fine!” he notes, waving her apology aside. “There will be more battles.” Of that, he’s sure. There will always be more battles. Humans are fun and predictable like that. Brows shoot up even further however, as Cordelia admits to the nature of her defeat. “Wooowwieee, it was a student what did you in?” He whistles appreciatively. “Welp, we all have our off days, tee hee! But if you want me to hex them for you as payback...”

The offer lingers, and he hopes the temptation proves too strong to ignore.

As for him...

“Oh, it was great! I had lots and lots of fun! I was up against a student too, actually. He started us off with a pretty feeble swing, so I returned the favour like BZZZZZZ, Swarm is a classic, you know? Unnerve your opponent and then go in for the kill!” He pauses. Amends with a cough. “The not-kill. Anyway and so I blasted him with a couple good Death spells, hehehe! But he got me too.”

As anyone with eyes could plainly see.

Henry goes on reenacting the fight, sparing no bloody detail,

“and then finally, WHAM, he wound up and punched me right in the gut! I thought I was gonna die, nyahaha! He looked like he wanted to reach right in there and grab my-” someone knocked something over nearby, the noise briefly drowning him out “-right from out of my tummy. It was quite something.”

His epic come to a conclusion, he hums in thought. “It was fun, but I kinda wish it had lasted longer...”

Hers was not a unique surprise - brows lifted as Henry, too, recognized a familiar face he’d not been expecting to see so soon. Delight soon replaces any confusion, however, and he takes the proffered juice box without any insistence.

“Joosy woosy for me? Aww, Cordelia, I’m tickled pink. Or, like, red in this case, I suppose, nya ha!”

Honestly, he was a bit of a sight: between the strips of red from that boy’s blade and the colourful rainbow he’d spewed following his foe’s helluva punch to his gut, and the time he’d taken to scuttle along back to the infirmary whilst he looked his wounds over with no small fascination...

well. Maybe a bath would be in order sooner rather than later.

First things first though: juice.

     Evasion was never an option, it seems, not when they’ve been practically in each other’s faces from the start. Alfonse literally stares Death in the eyes ( though the phrase had lost its charm after the first few times ) before the magic tears into him anew, and it takes all the effort he can muster to stay standing despite the spots in his vision and growing nausea.

[ Enemy roll: 21 (critical hit); -2 HP -> 0.5 HP remaining ]

     Perhaps it was the sight of the skulls brought about by Henry’s magic, the experience of battling Hel still fresh enough to twist something inside the prince. Briefly, Gronder Field is replaced with the barren landscape of Death’s domain until it fades with a blink; by then he’s already thrown himself at the dark mage with a hoarse yell bordering on a scream, driving the pommel of his sword into Henry’s gut with significant force.

[ Player roll: 20 (critical hit); predicted dmg: 2+0.5 (Atk boon) = -2.5 HP ]

     ( he’ll feel bad about it later, once he’s regained his senses. )

A direct hit! Giddy, Henry admires his work. Almost wants to clap his hands he’s so satisfied with it, but he knows better than to stop there. His next spell is already coalescing into being, and a particularly potent hex sits on the tip of his tongue should that fail to bear fruit. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s the one thing people keep him around for: war.

Or so he thought.

[ Enemy roll: 20 (critical hit); -2.5 damage. Henry’s HP: -1/4 ... defeated ]

The student before him takes on a feral kind of a look. Henry finds he likes it. A lot.

Right up until it heralds his own doom, and he reacts too slow: preceded by a yell, pommel connects with his gut and Henry blacks out for a second. When he comes to a moment later, he’s on the ground on all fours (minus his bloodied hand gingerly clutching his stomach) and he feels... ick. It’s not so much that it’s painful, per se (Henry’s about forgotten what pain feels like), but it’s distinctly unpleasant.

“My... cookies,” he groans,

     It never quite ceases to disturb to some extent, that Henry can act in such a flippantly cheerful manner regardless of circumstance. The mage moves as if his recently acquired injury isn’t even there for how he casually puts distance between himself and his opponent, letting another spell fly shortly after. Clouds of noxious mist spew from the skull’s jaw, causing his senses to burn with the dark magic’s potency; hacking coughs rattle Alfonse’s movements though do not fully stop them in their determination to keep Henry within striking range.

[ Enemy roll: 18 (hit); -1 HP -> 2.5/4 HP remaining ]

     Willing himself to endure, iron flashes under the midday sun to leave another shallow slice in thinly-protected flesh. One of them will have to fold before long as the most inevitable of foes sets in—and for his part, he does not intend to lose. “I can still fight…!”

[ Player roll: 9 (barely hit); predicted dmg: 0.5+0.5 (from Atk boon) = -1 HP ]

“I would sure hope so, we’ve barely had enough fun yet,” Henry replies with a chortle of amusement. Oh, but he is having fun, and lots of it, but he wants more, more, more...! Surely, there’s oodles of entertainment awaiting out on the field, what with the sheer number of opponents to bleed dry. . .

Or like whatever the next best thing is, he supposes, Cordelia’s voice admonishing him in the back of his head. Ugh.

[ Enemy damage: -1HP -> 1.5/4 HP remaining ]

And with such delightful thoughts in mind, he feels (but doesn’t feel) the bite of Alfonse’s blade anew, the likes of which he only registers when his hand retreats from the wound in question and comes back red.

He giggles, slightly hunched over as he admires the red, red, red, before redressing himself and launching that same hand forward, another Death spell at the ready and all the more potent for the other’s proximity.

Die.

(Henry attacks with Death! Dex boon. Roll: 21 (19+2) Potential damage: crit! -2HP)

Wait, no, don’t die.