#azurebeast

He stares down at Dimitri, slumped against the wall with his chin dipped to his chest, bandages obscuring a fresh new wound, crimson red blooming from the centre of it, and yet Claude couldn't quite hear the sound of his groans or the water dripping from the ceiling of the sewers. He's preoccupied with all the things that went wrong, too flabbergasted by the consequences of a little improvising.

Well. This had escalated spectacularly.

By tearing Dimitri out from under the Empire’s nose - and in full view of the Kingdom’s surviving loyalists, no less - the Alliance had just announced itself as a third blade entering the war.

It's a headache, really.

The Empire would condemn them for their interference. The Kingdom would be angry at their prince's abduction.

For an unpleasant second, it feels like the ground has shifted beneath his feet.

Claude exhales through his nose and leans against the stone-cold wall, running a hand through his hair. This isn't supposed to be the ending to his glorious little scheme. He wasn't planning to keep Dimitri alive as a prisoner like this. He's half-dead, delirious, out of his mind. Doesn't do him any good. But he couldn't let him die either.

That would complicate things, putting Fodlan in an even disarray compared to where it had started. For who would sit on the throne?

A sharp inhale cuts through the air. Claude looks up as Dimitri stirs in the dark.

He smiles briefly as he looks towards Dimitri, searching for the slightest crack in that placid mask for some tell that might reveal if his words have been circling a deeper truth. He finds nothing except another smile returned just as easily polite. Claude always finds him strange. He embodies the Faerghan code of honour just as easily as a wyern's hatching takes to water, yet for a man shaped by a world that demands wariness, especially from someone speaking to a future king, and an emperor like Edelgard, who rings every alarm bell as she should, Dimitri makes conversation feels alarmingly simple. Like speaking to an old friend. Claude isn't sure if he's resents that, or if it unsettles him more than it should.

Well, at least Dimitri is easy on the eyes. Gold strands pool down his head, swept to the side to add that regal touch and keep a sleepy look under check. And those eyes - that fierce violent blue - drags him back to his father's collection of sapphires. Claude never considers himself partial to blonds, but then again there weren't many blonds back in Almyra, and he'd been a little busy not dying to develop any strong aesthetic opinions.

"I see." He nods. "That makes an awful lot of sense. Unlike you, my parents never made me a list of what books were mandatory, but guess they never stopped me from reading anything either. Books have been my past time since I was six."

His hand slips up the spine of the book that Dimitri is reading to lower it, revealing a mischevious grin, though there's some seriousness in them if Dimitri cares to notice.

Dimitri doesn't think his personality is good. He worked so hard for a hot body thinking it'd be enough only for Claude to say he likes people with good personality. Bless.

years ago, edelgard had taken the first step on her path to realizing her vision for fodlan : years ago, fenris had turned his back on not only his clan, but the academy and anyone not within the fold of the flame emperor's grand plans in order to stand at her side. that of course had included the crowned prince of faerghus, dimitri. where once his highness may have considered fenris a friend, the masked boy had already resolved who to follow. he hadn't considered it a betrayal, but it seemed as though the deep red of anguish had nevertheless stained dimitri's heart. why else would he so doggedly pursue the assassin now, on the battlefield, had it not been to enact some form of personal vindication.

fenris wasn't so foolish to think he could defeat dimitri - especially not when he was in such a haunted state. where once the prince had been prim and polite, dimitri now seemed half out of his mind. a beast of misery, more so a man. fenris evaded and retreated when appropriate, but made no move to meet the other's offense with his own. those that had been with him on his mission had either been killed already or fled posthaste, trusting in fenris' abilities to fend for himself.

the subject of their discussion that day seemed rather innocuous at first - but there seemed to be a kind of uncertainty and hope that lingered underneath the surface of dimitri's question. the topic? did fenris ever find it difficult when dealing with their female classmates?

it was tactfully worded, mindful not to include a question of like or dislike - but rather, if the boy had a difficulty with it. it wasn't a matter of want then, or there lack of, but perhaps a question of some innate feeling that wasn't so logically explained away. an ineptitude, whether real or imagined; by one's measure or by society's. in the sparring ring, sweat finally upon their brows after many rows of training together, fenris slowed his assault. finally, he stood at rest and lowered his weapon. now seemed a good time for a break, so with a head tilt towards the benches, fenris led his "friend" away. with the noise of others still practicing, the distance of their chosen seat, and the intimidation factor of the both of them combined - there was little worry of anyone eavesdropping.

nevertheless, as fenris began the task of rewrapping the bandages around his arms, he picked at the question with a thoughtful seriousness. his verdict was a slow and quiet confirmation, his voice coming out raspy from disuse.

Dorothea is nothing short of curious. One says it must kill the cat, disembowel it until there is but a warm cavity, but she thinks otherwise: why, if the cat is so nimble – an escape artist that weaves through the nooks and crannies of its obstacles – must it meet such an untimely demise? Curiosity, in fact, can benefit the cat, much like how it benefits Dorothea: a particular insight into the minds of those around her, revealing information as the layers peel away. And so, here she is, eyeing the heir to the dukedom of Fraldarius from the training grounds, mindlessly interrupting her own practice. From her two-minute observations, he seems guarded and tense; quite the wail from his body language, a tell of a jewel worth looking into. Besides, what harm could it do to keep him company?

“So,” a melodic note in the midst of a silence near-impenetrable, “I much like to experiment with rapiers and broadswords–” she prances to him, a sweet bit of honey to the step of her boots, and raises her head to meet what stare he prepares: disinterest, indifference, it only fuels her desire for something more. She holds the latter aforementioned sword in her hand, decorated with a thin blade that sparks minute gleams in the light and an artistic twist in the smooth bronze of its hilt, allowing for the enrapture of delicate fingers. It rests a heavy weight on her wrist, adorned with golden bangles that clang into one another with every movement, but it becomes a sort-of comfort. Emerald irises flit from the weapon to the dark-haired boy before her, all cantankerous with a focus a thousand miles away from Dorothea’s voice. How rude: the utmost thought in her conscience. “Felix, is it? What do you think?”

"Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Dimitri's never yelled, even though Claude always thought that he's gifted in that department. The prince could most certainly send ripples across battalions and battalions of soldiers if he wished, but he's never raised his voice. Not in the time Claude knew him, at least. So it was certainly surprising to hear him from this distance. It was killing him not to sneak up and eavesdrop on what's happening, especially when it could be a hot topic that keeps the school talking. So imagine his surprise when it's Dimitri yelling at Sylvain for making 'ill-gotten' friends and being an accomplice to something insulting.

Ah.

Ah....

Ah..........

Sylvain deserved it, for having friends like that.

To say he's surprised, as the conversation unfolds, was an understatement. Being Dimitri's friend comes at a price no-one-will name. You simply just know once you know him long enough. He thought that someone like Dimitri would have placed his priorities on the larger picture, rather than the way other's opinions land on his physical appearance, but he can't help feeling endeared to learn that he's bothered by something so frivolous.