#allyphase

Sain is nearly at the end of his rope when Mark arrives. He had tried his hand at the whole flirting bit, and be it either his past experiences coloring him a better man or just being out of whack, he's about to call it quits. He muses that he'd still stick around for dinner--owing it to Lady Ethlyn and Sir Sigurd--but that this wouldn't be a repeat of the Ethereal Ball.

There's no Kent here to cry on his shoulders, in any case.

Keyword: almost. For the sound of Mark's quiet voice unlocks memories he hadn't thought of in a long, long time. She rarely spoke, even as the threat of a second Scouring drew near, but what commands she did issue are branded into his ears.

"By the grace of Elimine!"

He swats her hands to each side of her body, skipping the awkwardness of their encounter to pull the strategist into a hug. It's a big one, to boot, with Sain's well trained-arms and passionate, fiery heart enveloping her in his love. "Ah, Mark! I yearned to hear the sweet sound of your voice again! It's like birdsong on a quiet summer's morning. I can picture it against a backdrop of a flowering garden and rising sun! How could I not be well with you in my midst?"

Just as quickly as she had been pulled, she is pushed back to arm's length--her shoulders held in his gloved hands. "And look at you, oh look at you! If I were any more the fool, I'd have mistaken you for the queen of Bern. Look how well you blossomed!"

His smile touches both ends of his face. Behind all his high-flying words is a genuine sense of excitement that no charade could mask. Mark was his rock, the needle on his compass. If ever he needed to be tied down or shown which way was forward, she was there. She commanded him with her masterful hand, and he moved three spaces across her board each time. Always in that jagged 'L,' always forming up for the offensive. If ever she needed a shooting star to streak across the battlefield, she had Sain. Fearless Sain, adoring Sain.

Friendfiction

"Mark" does not, but there's more than a few pages featuring obvious variations on it. "Martin" is the most common one, but "Magnus" and "Malik" appear frequently as well. All of the "M" names blatantly describe variations the same character, because aside from personality similarities, the physical descriptions match up as well: pale, slender, shorter than the romantic interest, brown hair, and with sporting rounded features. The vast majority of the pages describing this character have a warrior woman named "Linden" or "Lauren" as the romantic interest, and in every instance, it is she who takes the lead in the romance... but she's not the only one Martin is paired with.

...In fact, almost every single character that has been written about at all is paired with Martin (or one of Martin's many apparent identical twins) in one story or another. There's the suave ex-criminal Lancelot, the stoic and devoted knight Heinrich, the battle-hungry and domineering Vanya, the shy Fiorella, the noble and kindhearted Elroy... it seems like this Martin fellow really gets around.

Curiously, though, these pages all sport something that makes them unique among all of the works scattered across the courtyard: they are the most heavily edited of the lot. Most of the words are almost entirely scribbled out, reworked over and over with the author never seeming satisfied. Martin remains a fixed point, but the world around them is ever-changing, unable to resolve into an actual conclusion. Not a single page actually depicts Martin romancing or being romanced by someone, just endless yearning... it's almost sad.

Their push forward against Haven had come at a bad time, and the opposing gunshots had been quick and blinding. Mark's voice comes softly, through that box she always spoke through - "We need to get out of here! We'll regroup later!" And then, Mark pulls with all her might to hook Nel's arm over her shoulders, and acts like a crutch to push her behind a nearby building.

hi (with rizz)

Mark’s movements mirror Shamir’s, the gentle hand over hers, the hesitant entering of her space. “Um, are you okay, with another kiss?” 

Then, on confirmation, Mark leans forward, pressing her lips into Shamir’s. The flavor rings stronger, because Mark’s kiss is deeper this time, not only testing the waters but diving into them. Her hands stay with Shamir’s, gently squeezing as she pulls away, slightly breathless, face flushed with the moment. 

mark's voice isn't a familiar one to linhardt, but the context surrounding the shape of its sound is one that reminds them instantly of her before they even see her. the moment he recognizes who's calling his name, he begins wondering why she would seek him out in the first place, but the answer becomes evident soon enough.

a staff. can they use it? they've never tried. healing has always been something their body has just done; similar to breaking into a sprint - they can whenever they want, but they know their limits.

linhardt knows his body can't take giving too much more without needing an actual rest. the chaos of their tenuous situation has made it impossible for him to actually relax. he hates it, both because he deserves a little relaxation at this point, and because if he can't heal there's nothing else he can do.

they accept the offered item without a word, staring at the jeweled side curiously. they appraise the weight in their hand, and then they try to...

the orb at the top begins to glow, and linhardt stops trying.