#{alm.}

Send 💭 for a thought my muse has had about yours || Accepting!  @jasperlion​

Meme || Accepting!

    It is difficult, to speak about someone he has only had a brief encounter with-- one that, in truth, overwhelmed the archbishop a little, if only due to finding someone he never suspected would be so much like himself in some regards. He pauses for a moment, a single hand moving to grasp at his chin in thought. No-- all Saias has to go off of is that, and what those books in the library have written about the prince.

     It would take an utter fool to not see how tense Alm happens to be. His words are met with the faintest of smiles etching themselves onto aged features, even if it does little to lessen the suffocating air Rudolf has long been aware he carries. It must have taken some courage, the father thinks, for his son to have gone out of his way to do this. His composure, for now, remains, deviating very little from his usual demeanour, and yet his heart cannot help but quicken in pace– to almost lurch uncomfortably at the thought of his son, his only child, deeming him worthy of a gift.     Perhaps just this once, this would be enough to make her smile upon them both, rather than the boy alone.

          “You did not need to give me anything, Alm,”

     The response leave his form with only the intention to give his son a reason to relax– to not fret over whether or not he would like whatever lies within the box–, yet they also happen to be the truth. Although showered with riches, the emperor has never been one to place much importance on gifts– or, at least, not unless they involved his now-deceased wife. To put those thoughts into words, however, would be impossible for the man, lest he wishes to sound unintentionally cold or lacking in gratitude. Rudolf moves to take the box from his child’s grasp slowly, and with a uncharacteristically large amount of care, not yet opening it– or, at least, not until he has made it clear that the gift inside will filly him joy, regardless of what it is.

Send 💭 for a thought my muse has had about yours || {Accepting!}

{2/4}

          “…There is something troubling about him. I cannot find the right words to describe what bothers me exactly, however… it is something that feels… awfully familiar– as though there is some sort of strange kinship between him and myself. Perhaps it is due to the fact that he is clearly hiding something… yes, maybe that’s it– someone who is holding a secret so important can often see when others are doing the same,”

     Rudolf has never been the sort to show affection-- or, at least, not since that fateful day. In fact, what he wishes to do feels utterly foreign to him, with the warmth in his heart both painful and yet so very distant. The last time he held his beloved son in his arms, Alm, in his arms, the boy was only a babe-- a newborn child, unaware of the world around him, and certainly not filled with this much pain and loathing that Rudolf presumes his progeny now harbours. It feels like an eternity passes by, with each step that he dares to take towards the other’s form, and if he were to concentrate on himself enough, perhaps the quivering of his fingers might have been noticed. It was worth a try, right? Even if Alm were to reject his actions, at least the emperor-- no, former emperor now-- could walk away knowing that he tried to extend the figurative olive branch to his son.

How intimidating am I? || {Accepting!}

     Perhaps the archbishop does not go out of his way to speak with the heroes that he does not happen to recognise-- that is, of course, aside from the few who attend the meetings regarding tactics--, however, in this situation, something compels him to step out of his comfort zone. Be it the expression that the younger male wears, or the general air that surrounds his form, Saias cannot help wish to speak with the other, and discern what it is that has him at least looking so very miserable and engulfed by deep thought. Maybe he will be verbally pushed away by the other, and told to mind his own business, but at least, in that case, no-one could fault the young man for at least trying to help out another member of the Order. After all, such melancholic behaviour can prove to be quite infectious.

          “...Forgive me for intruding,”

     His word are gentle and light, though the tactician does not dare to inch any close to the green-haired other-- or, at the very least, not until it is made clear that such a thing is not pushing any sort of boundaries. It would be far too rude to simply assume that this stranger is comfortable speaking to him, and even more so to push ahead without the slightest bit of politeness seeping into his words and actions.