don't waste my time

Nyx carefully traces her finger over the books, making sure every title is in its own dedicated spot. The work is monotonous and boring, yet, as she works, Nyx can't help but hum softly to herself, immersed completely in her own element.

Though repetitive and unstimulating, this peace trumps a scared battlefield. At times the antics from the children, and even the professors, can prove quite irksome, but it seems my divination joyfully correct.

During her verification of the bookshelves, empty slots in the shelves began to rear their heads. "Hmm... according to the inventory reference, a few books appear absent," she ruffles through a separate list of papers, "and they don't seem to be checked out either."

Her eyes scan around, only to be met with stagnant air and dusty shelves. Could a student be reading them in the library currently? Must I really patrol this entire library? I've been on my feet all afternoon. After a few moments and a few more intrusive thoughts, her laziness yields to her sense of duty.

Though the library is quite large, luckily there seem to be a few spots students like to frequent. After confirming the location of most of the missing books, she is just left with one remaining.

"Ah, 'Practical Purification and the Limits of Curses', this one was quite the read. I do wonder... what could posses a student to research such a dreary topic?"

The light filters through the windows, the only movement being shadows of leaves from the foliage outside. By such a hued location, lies a lone desk, and with it, a lone scholar.

Peering over his shoulder, she can see in fact, that this man had the last book she needed to find. Though, in his stature, the way his finger traced the pages, something about it all resonated within her. A quiet desire inked his fingertips. Similar to the one that has stained her hands.

"Is there anything you don't understand? This author is quite talented, but utterly fails when it comes to putting his genius on paper."

“Student?” he spits the word out to himself.

he is reading a book on curses, and she is pointing out how obvious his is already.

Still, she speaks as though she's familiar with both the writing and the subject matter, so soren intends to swallow his pride and ask her for recommendations on further reading.

he intends to, but when he turns to address her politely, he finds himself understanding immediately why she's so familiar with the subject matter.  Like him, she bears a significant marking on her face.  Like him, she looks younger than her speech would imply.

But she is not like him.

It's a visceral feeling, when he meets another branded.  It's as though a law of nature suddenly reveals itself to him - there is something innate and primal of the event of learning some one else is like him, and that is not happening here, nor did it happen upon her approach.

She is something else, but soren still understands her to be similar in some respect.

he's already on edge when the stone rumbles and cracks behind them, falling as though it had just waited for them to cross out of the danger zone and into safety before crushing the gap behind them.

soren curses loudly, to begin with.  Separate from his disquiet is the frustration with himself.

It had been soren's decision to bring them this way.  he'd had information that it would be quicker.  For all he knows, he's just lead the two of them to their graves.

A year ago, he'd be fine with pretending to escape while letting the air suffocate him.  Now, his second thought (after: goddess damn it, this was a mistake) is of Fiora.

“Hold the light over here,” he tells his companion as he unfolds the old map that had brought the two of them this far.  They need to readdress the situation.

Even if it's Soren, even if the location is different and way more cheerful and open than any of them before, Yunaka's shoulders still go tense after his question. Old habits take over, and instead of looking right at him, she continues fussing with the bouquet in front of her.

She'd mostly just stepped out here for air. All the people inside, if she stayed there too long she would start clawing to get out. Problem was that if she came out here and just stood around, people took that as an invitation too, for some reason. So, she'd grabbed some flowers and made herself look busy. It had done the job of deterring people for now, at least.

First, he offers his bouquet.  “Fiora, if you know her by name, discarded her bouquet.  Neither of us are much interested in the ongoing game, but i would like you to… decorate this and see it to her hands.  However you like.”

he turns his head, pausing to confirm that Fiora is nowhere near eavesdropping to this conversation.  Seeing She's distracted, he returns his crimson gaze to Yunaka.  "If you're unfamiliar, She's the taller woman in the powder blue suit, and She'll like as not return to my side at her first chance, thus the need for your set of skills.

"Of course it is," she says, smile never moving, despite the flicker over the candle of her heart, and she leads him, a thumb passing gently across the soft skin of his hand, towards their closest thing -- this... artifact... whatever-it-is-called. In preparation for this event, she had helped with setting up, and had learned of this instant portrait maker. She was not sure how it captured images with just a flash of light, but she was given the explanation of "magic" -- and that was really all it took to quiet her, in general. She knew nothing about magic.

But Soren does. She casts a dark blue gaze back at him. The line at the moment is short -- it should only be moment before they can be situated in front of the strange little thing and get their tiny portraits. "Have you tried this before? This is a portrait maker. I am told when you get your portraits done, it takes only moments, and they come out dry. It is done with some form of magic... Would you like to try?"

As she speaks and walks with him, she shirks her bouquet on a nearby table.

he remembers the little cards, printed out immediately, with his face and two others.  Three copies to be shared.  It's gone now, as that entire reflection is, but the idea of it is…

                                                perfect, now that he considers it.

soren means to remain at Fiora's side, he believes, for as long as he is able.  That will be to the end of Her life, if he is not successful, and he will have so much time to spend in pursuit of a death afterwards.

If there is a photo, he can keep it.  he can keep a tiny Fiora, permanently happy and smiling, beautiful, fresh faced, and at soren's side forever.

“Yes,” he exhales.

[ GOSSIP ] - For those who don't want to be the center of attention, sitting on the sidelines and observing those who do is a time-honored tradition. Exchanging thoughts with another while doing so is a rite of passage for a student—it is a slightly worse look for the staff to take part. "It is so incredibly... peculiar, is it not? The popcorn, the upgraded camera- that is, photo-artifex, the movies... all things that had been in that world." L'Arachel lets out a hum, mind working quite hard pondering it all. "Are all of them simply inventions that have been repurposed from Fortuna, for the betterment of Fódlan? Or was the world we were in prophetic in some way? Both of these possibilities seem rather troubling..." L'Arachel truly hopes Soren will have some insight into this, logical and helpful as he has always been. Seeing all of these inventions make her happy, true, but something about inflitrating Fortuna, causing its destruction, and then repurposing its creations for their own benefit does not sit well with her at all.

Standing beside L'arachel while dressed in a strange, unfamiliar outfit, surrounded by people is not something soren had expected to experience twice.  The reality is such, though, and her questions pick at the decay still eating at his heart, too.

Some things are simply unforgettable, for better or for worse.

“It's different,” soren responds quickly, not because he knows it to be true, but because that is his preference.  Only once the words leave his mouth does he begin searching for reasons why and how.

“i suspect you noticed that in fortuna, we had no sense for magic.  If that world had spirits, i could not commune with them.  These ‘cameras’ are magically based.  i presume they wouldn't have the silver or carbonite i know to have comprised the strange devices there.  i didn't particularly dive deeply into the discoveries made by that world, but i would wager these to be different means of approaching the same goal, so to speak.”

"Soren, good evening." Katarina is as softly spoken as she's ever been, but there's a faint warble to her voice that sounds almost like laughter. She cradles a bouquet of white tulips in one arm, one hand resting on top of it, ready to move without assuming the need to. "Are you going to try to fill out your bouquet?" There's that almost-laugh again. It reminds her of the better parts of her time in the mirror, just a bit -- this collaboration. The corners of her eyes soften; the flowers are a nice touch. And she hasn't missed the ornament in his hair either, her gaze lingering on it an extra beat. Soren probably doesn't need her to comment on it, but the way her half-smile quietly brightens and blooms into something rare and full says everything she doesn't aloud. "If you need any tulips... you can have one of mine." Of course you can. The flower is already in her grasp, offered like a paintbrush passed from hand to hand.

There's a familiarity to the situation, despite everything.  Removed from the looming assassination and the uncanny, abnormal world they'd been forced to inhabit, the familiarity turns only comfortable.

Katarina's presence lends a nice texture to soren's night.  he's out of his element and nervous (he thinks), but Katarina is… a friend.

This is where he might say she looks lovely, because she does, but he doesn't want the insincerity of honeyed words to sour her night.  After all, does she need to hear it?  The clip pinning back soren's hair is enough evidence of his opinion of her, and he can tell it doesn't go unnoticed, even without comment.

Katarina offers a bloom before he even answers her question, and he moves to accept it with the automated intimacy of two people working the same task for hours.  he offers her an orchid in return, despite the tulip already sitting in his bouquet.

That is, of course, what she thinks until she hears his further assertion.

Humoring her?

Surprise colors her face, a fresh sunrise over a tundra -- then a short laugh! "Humoring...?" she repeats, joyful... that he would, that he did. What a beautiful person he is, truly... "Didn't I tell you before, Soren? I believe you deserve beautiful things. That you deserve to be cherished, and taken care of. I see wonderful people be cherished on these sorts of nights every time I am posted at them..."

As she rises from the ground, she takes a hand of his -- gently, enough that he could easily shake her off, if he so wishes. "We can engage with the festivities as much as you wish. We can dance, we can eat, or we can go somewhere more private. Or... all of the above. It is whatever you wish."

he doesn't understand it one bit, but he finds himself wanting to.

                    That She should want so thoroughly to cherish him - 

and what does that word mean?  he has no reference point!  Is ‘cherish’ what it's called when he places a flower in Her hair?

he knows his face feels very hot, and he knows he likes the warmth of Her fingers around his.  In this moment, those two facts are almost all that he's certain of.

A third thing presents itself: he does not want Her to know how severely alien he is to this situation.

[ FLOWER ARRANGEMENT ] - No matter how many flowers you gather, your bouquet won't look its best unless you have the skill to make it so. A couple of students have taken upon itself to imbue their peers with the knowledge of flower language and the art of flower arrangement, and as a result the garden has become something of a workshop.

soren had presumed, given the apparent theme of the occasion, that the gardens may have been a nice place to be.

(he really doesn't know how these things are meant to go. he doesn't know what Fiora is expecting of him.  he doesn't know what he should be doing.  he only guesses that finding a pretty spot to be is part of it.  he isn't confident.)

he'd been wrong, too.  There's too many people out here, chatting about the bouquets and how to make them prettier.  he does happen to notice some one who seems interested in the flowers.

Yunaka seems to be looking over a bouquet - whether or not it's hers is in question, but soren couldn't care less.  It certainly looks better than those handed out at the entry way.

soren makes an excuse to slip away from his date momentarily, and approaches yunaka ready to make a deal.  She seems to like him, for some strange reason he's never been able to place, so he may as well leverage it.

           [chocolate] "professor." the honorific is as facetious as ever. "i have some news. i will be transferring out of the black eagles shortly, and will no longer be attending your classes." sanaki smiles, mischief twinkling in her amber eyes. "i hope you won't be too aggrieved by the loss of your top student…" she holds out the half-empty box of chocolates, to both him and his date. "as thanks for your instruction---or perhaps you'd prefer one of the tulips I've been been tasked with handing out?"

The most predictable sanaki gets is the condescension she speaks to others with.  It's impressive, in a way, given her diminutive stature and the baby fat still stubbornly filling her cheeks.  As some one far too similar to her, however, soren has never been impressed.

Though he would give her this: this occasion is the first that he hasn't thought he could easily out-maneuver her.  This time, he's too worried about the feelings of his date to want to bother with pushing buttons and being pushed in return, as is the common dance he shares with the empress.

“i'd hope you don't expect me to shed a tear,” he responds dryly.  he accepts the gift - if only so he can offer it to Fiora the moment sanaki turns her back.  “if you want to play the silly game, you can take one of these flowers and give me one of your own.  i suspect you already know i care not for it.”

[ NETWORK ] - One of your fellow ball-goers is being accosted, and getting into earshot, you realize it's by someone who claims to be one of the scouts looking for talent. But they're being a little pushy, aren't they? And are you sure they're really who they say they are?

“Professor Soren!” a voice calls to his left, and though his head swivels as though he responds without a thought, inside soren is cringing.

The title is strange and annoying when placed on his shoulders on a normal day, and tonight he'd much rather discard everything to spend it at the side of the Woman he'd attended with…

Still, She's since become a better excuse towards keeping soren's job, and if it's important, he'd be remiss not to answer.

“Your student is simply incredible, won't you sponsor him for the White Heron Cup?”

It is not important.

The blond seems torn between obligation and distaste.  It would be funny to soren, were he not already soured by the situation even trifling him to begin with.  Leo is flanked by two eager party-goers, though whether or not they're associated with the competition or the school, as official or student-participator, soren can't tell.

“You'd look so wonderful on stage!” one says, her green eyes twinkling.

“And dashing in the outfit granted to the winner,” the other adds, a clear flush to his cheeks.

"After all of the trouble we went through for our outfits, one might consider this sabotage," soren says dryly. It's a joke, of course, of their mix-matched bouquets. he can't help but notice hers; bright roses. soren knows little of flowers and their language, but even a fool knows roses symbolize love. he wonders if this is some sort of prank. he expects Fiora to overthink it. "Are you interested in their silly little game? i'd be just as happy to rid myself of it, but i certainly don't mind offering you one, first."

One of the (many) beautiful things about Soren that Fiora has noted over their time together is the way that he is so unapologetically himself. Where Fiora would attempt to staunch thoughts, perhaps, that may seem more cynical in nature, he embraces, speaks anyway. It brings a small smile to her face, a kind attention to him.

And anyway, it's funny. He's funny. He always has been -- no matter what others say of him. Funny, kind, good-hearted. It boggles the mind that others cannot see it of him.

"I am not interested in their game," she tells him, rather directly. "The only thing I am interested in tonight is you, and giving you the night of your dreams." Still, she plucks a rose from her bouquet and offers it to him, bending at the knee (but not sinking so she is flush with the ground, hoping not to ruin her clothes, despite the way her body protests the way she moves). It is a direct comparison to her offering of a rose in hopes of him accepting and them coming to to this Ball together.

A problem: he's never dreamed of nights like these.

he doesn't get it.  he understands, to some, there is a romanticism, but all soren sees is the groupings of people and the chatter and the propriety.  All soren can see is the list of rules people adhere to; the fact that he doesn't know how to dance; and…

           and he can see Fiora.  She beams at him radiantly, and looks upon him with a warmth soren can scarcely believe is directed towards him.

he takes her flower and tucks it into the bouquet - a single red rose, bloody and proud in the center of white orchids.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs.  he pulls one of the orchids from the bunch to tuck behind Her ear, using Her ribbon as a way to hold it in Her hair.  he doesn't want to upset Her hairdo, but he's reminded of the time She'd been given a crown of blooms to wear, and how nicely it complimented her complexion.

“i suppose this is a way to match in itself,” he considers.  “But…  i should say i'm not sure… what you mean.  i've never…”

"Soren-- Soren," she attempts to soothe, tone low, arms slotting around his frame, seeking to give the comfort he needs, to offer something steady even as she feels lightheaded and distant. "I am all right... Listen to me. I am all right."

Every mistake soren makes, however received, is met by Fiora’s sturdy arms and Her mustering every power within Her to become his rock. How can he continue to allow this? She’s hurt! They need to find a solution that doesn’t hurt Her any more; to allow her to heal just like any other. It’s what She deserves, dammit!

But the boiling emotions between them once again climb up his throat and threaten to choke him. he curses, voice low and strained by the emotion threatening to once again break his dam. he can’t let Her keep doing this to him. he wants to - they should be equals in this!

“Fiora,” he attempts, but his voice cracks as though - (well, he actually hasn’t aged much in the last ten years). “Stop. Stop.”

he says the word, but if anything, his arms receive her as she moves closer, removing his fingers from the sharp pain he’d tried inflicting at the back of his scalp mere seconds prior. “S-stop. You don’t have to -”

soren gasps.

“You don’t have to pretend anything -”

You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to hide every feeling. You don’t have to make me feel as though it’s not my fault.

But She asked, so soren answers without skipping a beat, smiling unwittingly as he does so, his brow relaxing as the words leave his mouth.

“When You dress for combat, You wear the garb of a pegasus knight. Those instances, and by extension those times by necessity, have been the only times that i’ve seen You in a skirt or dress at all.”

The athlete sidled over towards the kitchen, peering over the shoulder of the shorter man. He leaned one arm onto the countertop, making sure not to accidentally press it against one of the knives that had been laid out there. A quick grin was flashed at Lex's new target, soon followed by a laugh and a greeting. Better to break the ice now to make things easier in the future, right?

"I'm Lex," he greeted the figure draped in blankets. "Do you put any stock in what that guy's saying? I can't imagine we'd really end up doing all too much fighting, right? I mean, people're changing and all, but who cares if someone looks different? So long as they stay the same underneath, what's the problem there?"

They weren't staying the same, of course, but Lex wasn't quite aware of that just yet. He'd stopped listening to what that statue girl had to say, only tuning in once his name was dropped directly. He poked his head out from the kitchen, giving a small wave as clear acknowledgement that he had, in fact, heard her.

"Tailtiu lives here, yeah," Lex explained, "up on the top floor. Azelle and I were heading over to pay her a visit."

"I live on the floor below hers," Alfonse clarified, eyes focused on nothing in particular and a hand cupping his chin as he thought about whatever it was the guy was focusing on now. "It may make sense to visit her apartment after we've salvaged everything we can from my own. I should warn you now, though, it's not... entirely safe in my apartment, I fear. I vacated it because my pet owl had, er... well, she's gotten quite large and quite aggressive. She started hoarding whatever she can get her talons on. I barely got my phone away from her with just a few scratches and pecks. I have to imagine she's only gotten worse since then."

"Huh. So whatever's goin' on affects animals too, does it?" Lex responded before giving a small shrug. "Well, sounds like she's not gonna be exactly friendly, huh? Gives us something specific to prepare for. Anyone know if there's something that'll make us better against owls, specifically?"

Covered in scales, now.  Tipped in dark claws.  Sharp enough that each careless movement had made lines on the countertop in soren's little search.  might be a decent weapon.  he hadn't taken inventory of himself yet.  he should take inventory.

he specifically avoids turning to face Lex.  The angle might uncover his face, and soren has no idea how ugly he might seem now.  not that he's ever been especially attractive.  attractive enough.  he never -

It feels harder and harder to focus his thoughts on the rational, so each time he feels himself drifting, he steers himself harshly in the opposite direction.

“They don't,” he continues, “stay the same, i mean.”

he is, he thinks.  he hopes.  impossible to tell, without taking inventory.

"i was on my way to work.  In an instant, car crashes seemed to explode left and right.  Grotesque appendages of fleshy rainbows burst from windows and squeezed themselves trapped in the car - if not merging and integrating the metal itself.  i dropped my phone and couldn't retrieve it before some manner of mutated elephant's foot smashed it into the concrete, the person responsible had appeared as some sort of salary man or accountant mere seconds prior.  Most of his body had become a horrible maw, and he reached towards me to try and pull me in.

“Fighting is the least we need to prepare for.  We have the lucidity to stay our hands.  We must assume whatever we encounter will not.”

Through his speech, had Lex not been hovering beside him, soren may have continued his work sorting through the kitchen's resources.  At his side, he was frozen, afraid to show the slightest of his own changes.

Lex had implied it doesn't matter, if he's the same inside, but soren knows first hand how easily it is to lie.

“i was looking for someone too.  They live on the first floor.  Considering the beast that seems to have taken residence there, we'll have to muster everything we can before attempting a rescue.”

“Wooow ~” Ophelia replies, her sing-songy voice twisting beyond what seems a normal ‘human’ pitch.  “If we're making a list, can we go to the roof?  I want -”

“No,” soren cuts her off.