#aquaatics

The squeak that Azura makes is matched with a yelp from Hugh. Given the crowds and the darkness, maybe he should have expected something like this to happen. And maybe he did, just, not to him!

Fortunately, the outfit he wears is fairly dark. It'll be annoying to dry off, but nothing's ruined. The fact that its only water helps, too.

So, in the end, he ends up laughing with her. "Who's idea was it to provide drinks after the lights went down?" He jokes a little with her. "Man, I should've brought the torch staff. I could dry everything way faster that way."

But he doesn't have it with him, so he ends up searching for the next best thing. Plenty of napkins and the like are nearby the refreshments, so it's easy for him to grab some for him and Azura.

she holds the ceremonial sword out with both hands. atop it, an orchid rests. "pardon me." a smile, its stiffness barely noticeable. "may i have this dance with you?"

haha. imagine if he said no? guess what, shigure? i turned your mom down! we're still cool, right?

they probably wouldn't be. or so shiro thinks, considering how close the two appear to be. they've never spoken in great detail about their thoughts on their families, both having taken to nursing whatever those feelings entailed silently beside the other, but there's an inkling that a happy azura means there'll be a happy shigure, too. like mother, like son.

( does he even know she's here? shiro has to wonder. color him surprised. )

a set of watercolors, in the colors that fódlan had to offer; brushes that the shopkeep recommended as must-haves; parchment that could be soaked through with water and still hold its form — and azura offers it over to shigure with tense shoulders despite the mirth in her expression. perhaps it is too simple of a gift; perhaps her assumption that her son is running low on these... basic supplies for himself is outdated. they are no longer in the deeprealms, after all.

regardless, she presents them. storytellers without adequate tools to create are powerless, after all, and shigure should never be.

"otherwise, are you celebrating with friends this weekend?" hesitation ( he is all grown up; of course he would have friends to celebrate with; but— ). then she offers, "there's a boat festival coming up that you might enjoy, if you'd like to watch their performances with me."

have I tried these paints before?

shigure smiles absentmindedly. what ought to be a simple yes-no question is curiously impossible to answer, even to himself, the memory slipping through his mind as water through cracked stone. what he can recall is that the azura who smiles at him is not his. it must follow, then, that the hands that accept her gifts are not his, either.

the parchment finds its way onto his lap anyway, propped up as if he had a brush to mark it with. he looks up out of habit, surveying the scene. he sees the sky which he knows to be blue, streaked with clouds; he sees the stone of the monastery walls, which he knows to be mottled with moss.

it grounds him. her face sharpens, just a little. but it's for the best that he doesn't have the rest of his supplies; any color he puts to the page now would be glazed with a sheen of falsehood.

"thank you, mother. I, ah, actually didn't make any plans…" he had not forgotten the date of his birth — rather, it's almost as if time had simply passed by him until it deposited him here. he looks back at her, gently. "I'd love to go with you, of course. just let me know when."

A pause, and then a smile. "Regardless, your dress is beautiful with or without it."

"Oh, dear; it's hardly worth kneeling for, is it? You risked getting your own dress dirty."

Fortunately, a cursory glance says that isn't the case. Whether it's by her own graceful movements or something as simple as luck, it seems the girl has managed to avoid punishment for her moment of selfless service.

"Though," Zephia says, taking the gem with a smile, "I suppose you're lovely enough that you might draw envy no matter your clothes. Regardless, here."

In exchange for the fallen jewel, she has little to offer beyond a singular orchid. If she were to be poetic, there might be something to be said about exchanging something long-lasting for something ephemeral. But sometimes, the truth can be something far more simple—that the girl really is lovely, and that Zephia has nothing to thank her with beyond this.

Her sister approaches her during a Nohrian dance to ask for a partner for the following Hoshidan one. Hinoka smiles softly and offers Azura a lily in response. She would be honoured to dance with her sister again.

the chipper voice of the ensemble's leader cuts through the grand hall as the music decrescendos — "you've learned the dance once," they shout, "so it's time for you to do it right: with closed eyes! shut your eyes and grab your next partner now, why don't ya?"

with the announcement, azura's steps slow; the hold on her partner's hand comes loose. there's a small smile atop her lips at the whimsy of it all — what an endearing twist. a quiet thanks to her partner, and she shuts her eyes, spinning around with flailing arms until they come in contact with another body.

"ah, you're quite tall!" she laughs, patting their arms until they trace to mystery hands. "although, i never thought i'd find anyone in the dark." the music swells again, a continuation of the same lively waltz, and azura takes her first steps to darkness and song.

the voice is familiar, the laugh less so. but when he hears it, shigure doesn't need to open his eyes for her image to appear before him, clear as glass. oh, but he wishes he could look, search for all the ways that this azura, surely, differs from the memory he keeps alive: what is she wearing? how did she style her hair? is the smile in her voice filled with joy, or sorrow?

but he feels that telltale sensation crawling up his throat, a tightness about his eyes---and so maybe it's for the best that she can't see him, either.