I command.

   “The very notion of you waiting on anyone is despicable,” Ravus murmurs, nose wrinkled. “I will, however, settle for your devotion.”     The last word is punctuated by a jab of the blade.     Perhaps a mite too sharp. He’s becoming unsettled, ruffled by words Seifer wields with an accuracy as deadly as a blade. Knows precisely where to strike, doesn’t he? Ravus grits his teeth. He thinks a muscle in his cheek twitches, and he’s aware Seifer is probably familiar with the movement: a sign of restraint, of rising temper.     “--Do you think my head so empty that I need be reminded of our goals?” he hisses, only to... pause. Contemplate. Catch a swing of Seifer’s blade with his own and use his aching new ‘arm’ to shove it away. “...Or do you, perhaps, require a reminder that your Lord remains ardent in his aims?” A quirk of a brow. “Maybe you were concerned I’d crumble. Leave you all alone with our task? Hm?”    --Ah. Seifer’s blade’s knocked from his grip. A purr of satisfaction steals through Ravus. He did that. He is far from powerless. Not the scorched shell of a man he could have become. He rises from the ashes. “I can always do better,” he huffs, as if spectacularly unimpressed by the conceded round. “As can you. Honestly, Seifer. Again.”     And again, as many times as his knight will help him regain himself. 

   “I’ll beat you yet,” Ravus says sharply, though it tapers off into a world-weary ( Seifer-weary ) mutter of, “You know, there are some Lords whose knights treat them with respect.”     He’s being petulant. It disgusts him. Ravus Nox Fleuret, pouting like a child at his poor aching wounds. Gods above, he thinks he’d have Seifer shot if he did attempt to coddle like the Fleuret house staff are wont to. Ravus has had about enough of being towed off to bed and plied with soup ( though by his estimate, he tolerated that for precisely a half-day before calling Seifer to drag him from his respite and begin his training. )     There is no time for weakness. In a matter of days, he’s to stand at council: his first public appearance as a commander since losing his arm. He knows already the task he must undertake.     “Seifer--” Batting his knight’s sword away with a jerk of his own. Icy indifference must be maintained. Not a twitch of the expression. Nifleheim’s high commanders will say worse things than this, will hone in on weaknesses with deadlier intent. “You know our way, old friend.”    They’re going to set things right.    --There: a parry, delivered swiftly. Lacking in grace, in refinement. Not the fluid motion he’d have used before, but something entirely more savage. Press an advantage, should one exist: his arm protests as he forces a swing of the blade.

   “You’d better not be going easy on me,” Ravus remarks, an hour or so into training. Sweat slicks his skin. He raises an arm to wipe it away, wincing when it registers that he’s mistakenly used his Magitek arm.     ( He feels clunky and off-balance. He must improve. He must be challenged and overcome it. )    “I think I shall set you on duty cleaning the Chocobo stables should I discover you’ve gone easy,” he adds, mouth quirking almost imperceptibly in what may be his first display of humour in weeks. 

ravus faceclaim? ravus faceclaim.

I AM HERE FOR ALL YOUR RAVUS NEEDS!!!!! ( also my messages are insisting they aren’t working and I’M SO MAD WITH THEM, come discuss this with me aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! ) 

   -- “Your assistance was... unnecessary,” Ravus begins stiffly, “but appreciated nonetheless. You’re certainly proficient with magic, my lady.”    Proficient enough to send a daemon up in flames. Were he in the mood for introspection, he might have admitted to being mildly impressed.

COME INTO MY ARMS OH MY GOD YES. I’M HIGHKEY EYEING YOUR VERSE WHERE SEIFER IS RAVUS’ KNIGHT, LIKE GIMME SOME OF THAT PLEASE AND THANK??????

he’s not even allowed in the kitchen. even when he begrudgingly wears the enormous oven mitts “i just want to help with the--” “GET AWAY FROM THE FIRE RAVUS DO YOU WANT TO LOSE MORE LIMBS”

   -- “I’d advise that you refrain from speaking; already I itch to gut you and you’re yet to open your foolish mouth.”    The world is afflicted, he thinks, with the same foolishness. Noctis Lucis Caelum will crumble beneath the prophecy’s weight. ( Kinder to snuff the dim light of his existence now. )

AU where Aranea and Ravus say a joint ‘fuck you’ to Nifleheim and start a nice bakery or something instead

   “Of course not,” Ravus huffs, a dismissive gesture extended. Narrowed eyes follow his sister’s movements. He squints; pauses; contemplates. “I’m a distinguished tactician. I cannot believe I sit here facing this mockery.”    ( But a smile curls, barely, at the corner of his mouth. )

   -- “Please refrain from braiding my hair. I can feel you doing it.”    It is not a style befitting him. There is no time for frivolous nonsense. His heart is not at all warmed by the act. ( It is. )

   -- “Gentiana turned up in my office to spout poetic nonsense again. I begin to suspect she does it simply to unnerve me. Can you please request that she at least do this when I am not attempting to command an army?”    An imploring sort of look.