#arcelerity

Tormod hasn't forgotten the whole 'unhinged threat display' thing from earlier, no. But at this point, he's accepted the fact that The House of Mouse is filled with guys like this, for whatever reason. Briefly, he wonders who'd make it out alive if you locked Valter and Griss in a room.

Whaaaatever. He grins, tugging at his bandana. He's heard some choice things already about Griss's entrance, and boy-oh-boy.

"Seems you're popular around here."

By now, Griss has wandered away from the cluster of old cabins set up to house them all for the rest of the month and set his sights on more interesting ventures: like the tide pools and their fascinating ecosystem of prickly, slimy, and bizarre little critters. Tormod finds him with his arm plunged elbow-deep into one.

“Huh?” With an arc of water, Griss reels back and up onto his feet again, far more agile than he seems. “Oh.” Expression shifts into some semblance of recognition mixed with hints of surprise and, ultimately, disappointment (for what reason, he doesn’t even fully know).

“What’s up, short stuff?”

He’s popular? What a weird word, he thinks. Popular has never exactly been something he’s strived for. The opposite, in fact, if all the spikes and dangerous looks are anything to go by. So he snorts.

“Jealous? ‘Cause I got just the trick.”

He grabs Tormod by the wrist—

shlap.

And now he’s got a big, wet sea cucumber in his hand. No further explanation.

“There ya go.”

Griss flashes a grin, gives a wave (although it could very easily be that he’s slinging cucumber slime and water off of his hand), and turns on his heel to venture inland again, bored once more.

Okayyy, Griss (he's picked up the guy's name from hushed chatter) is guzzling wine and chowing down on meatballs. Coolio. All he has to do is be a little sneaky. He nabs some meatballs and carefully mushes them around the sweet bun. Voila, there's an ultra-meatball! He even toasts it a bit with his fire magic to make it seem legit.

"Enjoying the night?" Tormod sips from his glass of wine, trying to seem casual. He barely even winces at the sharp flavor! He offers Griss the trojan meatball, making a great deal out of biting into a second, normal giant meatball he concocted. "Y'know, these things are pretty good. Want one?"

”Huh?” Reclined with one arm draped over the back of the chair, Griss sizes the guy up. He’s never seen him before. No, that’s not true. His eyes flicker past his shoulder to the crowd in the center of the room, but the dolled up little blond hound is nowhere to be seen. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t been imagining her, since she’s a kid and this is exactly the kind of thing kids like her should be attending. If she stood in the middle of the room and shrieked like she was on fire, she’d get so much attention. And most of them would probably even tell her how good she was at screaming. But she hadn’t been screaming, or in the middle of all the attention. She’d been talking to this twerpy little redhead, and no one else had even been looking at her.

So maybe it hadn’t been Marni. Maybe some other one-eyed little blond brat. Griss’ gaze slides back to the kid not-Marni had been talking to a little bit ago, then drops down to the lumpy ball of meat on a stick he holds out to him. For some reason.

”Yeah, I got a whole plate of ‘em!” He waves at the serving tray on the table an arm’s length away. The simmering oil in the magically heated plate smells like garlic and spices - tantalizing enough to entice just about anyone, hungry or not - but there’s a distinct difference between the shapes of the meatballs lined up in it, and the shapeless thing on a stick. But Griss isn’t one to turn down free stuff, and if it’s poisoned - hey, that’d be fun.

He swipes it, still eyeing the redhead with a crooked kind of smile.

”You anglin’ for somethin’, kid? I don’t believe in this kind of random good will, ‘specially from guys I’ve never met,” he says, waving the trojan meatball at the gifter. It wobbles precariously on the end of the stick, but then he tears half of it with his teeth. Chews. Spiced meat, then something plain and doughy. Then he hits the sugary paste in the center and makes a face. The other half of the meatball trembles for a second, then drops off the stick to splat pathetically on the ground between them. Griss looks at it, swallows, looks up again. He sneers dangerously as he rises to his feet.

Sleeping in the Snake dorms feels borderline traitorous, but the Snakes have been so nice to him, and he's got so many friends here! Plus, he's not sure if Valter will just straight up be a coward and kill him in his sleep, so this is just logical!

Ewan's room is just him and an older dude also from Magvel, it's kind of boring honestly. Surely they won't begrudge him if he wanders away a little and...

"Think fast!"

Pillow in hand, Tormod leaps toward Marni, attempting to thwack her. What's a good sleepover without a pillow fight?

Things are, more or less, pretty quiet after everyone goes their own ways. Some leave feeling guilty. Others feel indignant. Everyone who attended either (or both) meeting leaves feels things differently, but the undercurrent is the same: no one really wants to talk about what happened.

The Snakes dorm is quieter than ever with only five people. Or it should be quieter than ever. Why is it, then, that Marni hears the sound of footsteps running around the supposedly empty dorms even through her tightly closed door?

She gets approximately half a second of heads up after throwing the door open before a pillow whomps directly into her face.

"Pfffghteugh!"

Fabric and feathers are decidedly not the worst thing Marni has ever had thrown at her (that dubious honor went to assorted magic and weapons aimed her way), but to be fair it has been a very long day and she has kept it together remarkably well up until this point.

She was on a Mission when they were in that weird house, so she couldn't pay attention to him then, but sometimes you just wanna chase a guy around with improvised weapons, y'know?

"Think you're sooo funny, huh?" A now empty room means that Marni has three spare pillows to use as ammo. "I'll teach you to mess with me!"

It's been a while since she's done it non-lethally, but she's had years of experience with hitting guys with things.

He gives him a hearty clap on the back, sticking his tongue out. He's tempted to turn this into a wrestling match, but maaaybe he should save that for a little later. Give the audience a fun rivalry! So he musses Edward's hair instead, and he's not responsible for any escalations beyond that.

"May the best competitor win!"

"Tormod!" Edward exclaims, waving as he's approached, before he cocks his head— It takes a moment for him to notice on what team Tormod actually is, eyes skimming over his customary headband only to realise on the third pass that it's not Tormod's usual.

"Ohhh. Oh!!" Aw, dang it, Tormod's right! If you put Daein's best blade and Tellius' best anima mage together in one team, it's bound to get hairy for the competition. Still: "It's like you're born to be a rat, haha!"

The laugh's followed by a hearty clap of his own, though he doesn't have an immediate answer to the sudden hair ruffle besides a loud heeey!!! and almost going to the tips of his toes to get the top of his head out of reach, before full palm pushing Tormod's head downwards just a bit from his teeny bit of vantage. Any escalation onwards from this point is also not his responsibility.

That hairstyle and gaudy fashion sense...even from this far away, Tormod would recognize Marni anywhere. And he has the chance to do the funniest possible thing right now.

(Roll: 13)

Slowly, carefully, Tormod creeps toward--okay no, screw that. He runs at full blast toward Marni, sea cucumber in hand. She's about to experience what he likes to call "the down-your-shirt special."

Except, as he is in prime position to execute his perfect attack, he is faced with a fatal flaw. Marni is a girl. And he's really not allowed to do this to girls unless he's asked beforehand. Dammit!

He's gotta change course, and fast! Her hair's a good enough target, it'll fit perfectly in those curls--!

"Special delivery!"

The beach is a peaceful sort of place, more or less. The waves crash on the shore, peals of laughter echo over the dunes in the distance, and sand shifts under foot. Some people can find themselves standing and watching the waves for hours on end, simply taking in the natural view.

Marni's not quite sure she's patient enough to be here for hours, but she certainly could have stayed for at least a little bit were it not for the sound of someone rapidly approaching from behind.

Unfortunately for Tormod, the very man that had given him that sea cucumber was also the kind of person that would, in fact, stick something down a girl's shirt without asking beforehand. He had even dropped ice cubes down her dress at the ball, dooming her to a very wet and cold winter night. The fact that she started it is hardly relevant.

So needless to say, she's feeling a bit.... how shall we put it, on guard about this sort of thing. Call it paranoia.

[Roll: 18]

Or maybe intuition.

With a speed she didn't think herself capable of, Marni whirls around on the spot and comes face to face with one (1) slimy, floppy creature in Tormod's hand.

"EUUUUUUUUUUUGH!!"

She shrieks in a very lady-like tone of voice.

Marni scrambles to put some distance between them, kicking up sand as she does. Her axe is still packed away in her luggage or she would have hefted it threateningly. Alas, all she has are her empty hands with which to make rude hand gestures and point considerably less threateningly at Tormod.

Oh good Lord Sombron below, it almost got that slime on her her.

hc + word | accepting (3/?)

Honestly, I don't think he believes he has much of a proper duty. Sure, there are things that he wishes to see achieved in his lifetime, but it's not his entire purpose.

I guess the closest thing would be how he feels about laguz and their rights as people. How he wishes to do all that he can to see laguz and beorc living in harmony, even if that may take a long time (especially in Daein but- *shot*) Less that he thinks of it as a duty, and more as something that he must do because it is the right thing to do.

"Nuh-uh! I think you'll find I'm a bit taller." Tormod pulls his face into mock-sternness, though he means it! Caspar is of a similar height, for sure, but Tormod has at least a centimeter on him. Maybe two! "Hmmm..."

A genius idea strikes, and he leans in quite close, still standing at his full height (which is definitely taller, and not at all assisted by shoes or anything). Before the blue-haired boy can react, Tormod plants a kiss on his forehead--that he definitely was able to reach easily and comfortably without moving his head much!

"Hah! See?"

kiss day 2024!

Caspar's argument is lost for a moment, swept aside by the press of Tormod's lips to his forehead. He could swear for a moment that the other boy straight up smells like fire, but that might just be the soot baked into his clothes after weathering so much magic use. With how warm that kiss felt, it sure feels like there's a fire heating the inside of the mage too.

But that is all way beyond the point! Which is! Tormod had definitely cheated!!

"No way! You were totally on your tiptoes for that one!"

Caspar rears his head back slightly, only to knock his forehead directly against the other boy's headband.

"Hey, how's your night going?" Tormod waves her down as he trots up, a friendly smile on your face. "I'm Tormod from the Golden Deer! What's your name?"

He plucks a feather off his badge, holding it towards her. She seems pretty bemused, all things considered, so maybe it's good to skip right to the point?

"Do you wanna trade brooches?" What would be a good offer, just to seal the deal? Ah! He snaps his fingers, trying to come up with some kind of cutesy thing girls would like. Aha, a cat!

...the cat does not hold its shape well, and flecks of it come off, singing the feather and his own flame-colored hair. "Agh!"

The face of the student who suddenly waves her down is an unfamiliar one. Mitama pauses to look at him curiously. "Ah, hello. I am Mitama, of the Deer as well."

How is her night going? That is a loaded question. One that she is not about to dump on someone she has never met before, certainly. "The ball is certainly eventful. A shame that there are not more quiet places to visit that do not put you at risk of encountering some...preoccupied couples."

Oh right, the brooches. Mitama takes her own and pulls another pearl free. "Certainly, here you are." The number of feathers she had collected was certainly starting to grow. She might have enough to make a feather duster she would never use by the end of the night. "Thank you-"